On 26 March 2016, Jim Harrison died. As I write these words his publishing company – Grove Atlantic – indicates the cause of death “has not been determined.” This makes me howl with laughter, and clearly reveals this particular spokesperson at Grove Atlantic didn’t understand Jim Harrison. Oh sure, there will be some specific reason that will fill that empty line on a medical examiner’s report. But Jim Harrison died because he lived up all of his life, there was no more. And so he did what comes next, he died. I will write more about this important voice in my life in a day or so. I need to mourn a bit, dig out a few of my favorite poems, possibly get lost for the hundredth time in “The Man Who Gave Up His Name” or “Legends of the Fall.” When you’ve read everything an author has written (and I have), and when so many of those written things resonate marrow-deep in your bones (and they do), then you feel something with that author beyond closeness. In the case of Jim Harrison, I believe the word is love.