We meet on a transatlantic ship. A designated place, a predetermined time.
An ending, an question, and, hopefully, some answers.
This complicated world delights my crooked, well-meaning heart.
A shadow breaks, blooms across the wall from a car driving down the street. I drift alongside the shadow with my eyes only; I am dreaming of stories again.
The pleasure of the game is that it requires a certain amount of thought and skill, but leaves the players enough free mental space to sit and have a leisurely conversation.
Our Sunday Best: The Crossroads of the Eye and the Heart: Show Your Cards; Throw Your Doubt Upon The Table (A Small Epilogue)
We look up.
Somehow, we chose a path.
Our Sunday Best: The Crossroads of the Eye and the Heart: Where the Eye and Heart Meet— Gordon Parks (Part 4)
It is August 1942. Gordon Parks has been in Washington D.C. for less than a month.
I crave books I love the way I crave certain foods. I will stop cold in the middle of a task during the day with a single line from a novel or poem…
Cunningham is a native daughter of the Northwest and understands, instinctively, the temperament of light.
One of the primary lessons I learned at my grandfather’s knee is that the little things are what make up the width and breadth of a person’s life. The stories we tell about one another are…