
Nonfiction
Flesh Eggs
Cruising through western Michigan toward the lake for a family outing, under flawless spring skies and passing the odd barn or silo, a sign catches my eye, half-obscured by a huge lilac bush: Flesh Eggs.
Strange. Surreal. Shocking. Beautiful.
Strange. Surreal. Shocking. Beautiful.
Home » Archives for Ken MacGregor
Cruising through western Michigan toward the lake for a family outing, under flawless spring skies and passing the odd barn or silo, a sign catches my eye, half-obscured by a huge lilac bush: Flesh Eggs.
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