The squat pen rests

Seamus Heaney died today. I found out just before dinner, and sat in an armchair clutching Death of a Naturalist and dripping melancholy into my tomato soup. I fell in love with Heaney on a cold October. Arriving home work-frazzled and chilly, I sent Tim off to his meeting, folded the laundry and then sat … Continue reading The squat pen rests