Non-Pharmacological Fixes

Evening The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide-spread under the light grow faint— the petals reach inward, the blue tips bend toward the […]

The little river twittering in the twilight, The wan, wondering look of the pale sky, This is almost bliss. And everything shut up and gone to sleep, All the troubles

The Desolate Field Vast and gray, the sky is a simulacrum to all but him whose days are vast and gray, and— In the tall, dried grasses a goat stirs

August No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass. On either side, smitten as with a spell Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass, Edging the dusty