A Saturday afternoon in September, the last of them. Where the air leaves off and my skin begins, I can’t…
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Still hard, and more beautiful than ever
Iwas outside at dawn this morning, as I’ve been most days this summer. Standing in the wet grass, watching the…
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Summer afternoon
Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.” …
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Inhabiting a moment
“Everything that is not written down disappears except for certain imperishable moments, people and scenes.” — James Salter, “The Art…
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Quiet days
You have traveled too fast over false ground; Now your soul has come to take you back. Take refuge…
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Blessings
What happens when we begin to count them? The day becomes a poem, the list a prayer, life itself a…
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