Warblers on His Eyelashes: Dead Man’s Float by Jim Harrison

Lately, I’ve thought about death. How it comes for us all. How we should learn to embrace it (but most of us never do). How we weep publicly on Twitter when a writer, in particular, falls dead. How we should stop thinking of it as a premature snap-off of an artist’s career—a cruel em dash interrupting a life—but the completion of a life’s work: a period, or—if you want to take it more gently—an ellipsis. How we all will one day just come to a complete and utter stop.

I’ve been thinking about d...