The black man who approached from the rear of the gathering at my father's burial looked to be one hundred years old. He was frail, but not bent. He walked haltingly, supported by two black ... [+]
How does one god kill another? I contemplate this as I sit perched on my web, tucked beneath the shadow of the birdbath. He makes his rounds, scrupulously inspecting each row of tulips before moving onto the begonias. We're not all that different, he and I. We are both masters of life and death within this domain, but our conflicting interests have fixed us in opposition. Decades ago, he set the stage by manipulating the yard into a rectilinear projection of his own limited human imagination. He has fenced in a biological autocracy and has rejected the natural world that flourishes beyond the