Ft. Wayne
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How many other things can I not know?
I am reading Sarah’s Braunstein’s novel, the sweet relief of missing children. It is a remarkable book, perhaps even brilliant. But that is not what I am writing about this evening. I am writing because in the novel a man pays a visit to the house in which he grew up, saw last when he Continue reading
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“What I am, I am by myself.”
Do you ever ask yourself what is the best we have to offer? The “we” here is the species, homo sapiens. I will pass completely on the who or what to whom we offer (the verb implying such: O.E., ofrian, from L. offerre “to present, bestow, bring before”). Not bringing this before anybody/-thing but myself, Continue reading
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“…some good sacred memory…”
Looking back, I wonder: What is hidden over that hill, back over there? Where does it feel right and where can my mother still watch over me? Continue reading
...the house I live in... 