Jim Harrison

Back in the blue chair in front of the green studio another year has passed, or so they say, but calendars lie. They’re a kind of cosmic business machine like their cousin clocks but break down at inoppormne times. Fifty years ago I learned to jump off the calendar but I kept getting drawn back on for reasons of greed and my imperishable stupidity. Of late I’ve escaped those fatal squares with their razor-sharp numbers for longer and longer. I had to become the moving water I already am, falling back into the human shape in order not to frighten my children, grandchildren, dogs and friends. Our old cat doesn’t care. He laps the water where my face used to be.