personal essay

Mungo

It’s 5 p.m., winter. The days are just slivers of light sandwiched between thick slabs of darkness. There are two extra kids at our house, a sinkful of dishes, ...

At First Light

At first light, we walk out the back door armed with a freshly sharpened fixed blade hunting knife, a ½ inch diameter rope, a pot of boiling water, and two 5 ga...

Forget Your Perfect Offering

On the eve of butchering day, I was in the kitchen of our one-room house on a hill. A single light burned. I scraped a blade against a stone, the sound slicing ...