Posted on

Cèilidh for Angus

[by Kersten Christianson] To a canticle of wind and juncos, squalls trip across a sullen ocean an errant curtain hop- scotches across the sill of an open window. I want no somber dirge, no plodding funeral song. Instead, the screaming banshee of a wicked fiddler, of more hair than voice, of ear and aura, of other- […]

To view log in. Not a subscriber? Get a free or paid subscription.