The crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer’s ending, a sad, monotonous song. “Summer is over…
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an oasis of silence
We need to recover an oasis of silence within the rhyme and reason of our active life, for it is…
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mending the world
My mom, who is eighty, gets up in the dark every morning. She likes to sit near the window in…
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joy, tempered
Even joy can be complicated. Some thoughts on peace and politics in troubled times.
a hymn to October
It is one of those late, mild, autumn days that feel particularly precious in New England. We love them even…
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happy reports
The other morning, I snapped the leash onto Tess’s collar and headed out for a walk. We followed our old…
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