Richard Jarrette

Every spring my mother says I should buy a straw hat so I won't overheat in summer. I always agree but the valley's soon cold, and besides my old Borsalino is nearly rain-proof. She's at it again, it's August, the grapes are sugaring. I say,Okay, and pluck a little spider from her hair— hair so fine it can't hold even one of her grandmother's tortoise shell combs.