In the End

That Christmas comes at the end, in the final breaths of a wasting year, is best. After the muscle-ache of trekking graveside and back, graveside and back; after the haunting loneliness— of beauty-gazing and solo-missions, of incomprehensible party chatter, of home without its people; after the long war— the blitzkrieg of unrelenting lies, and the … Continue reading In the End

Going Slowly

feel the thrill of going fast! the spine-chill of a sudden blast— the wind, the wind, the wind! and countless train tracks crossed! But in the end something is lost of sunlight cast upon the hill the full beauty standing still where one goes slowly.