Truth, Lies and Red-Eyes on a Sunday Afternoon

I’m drinking a Red-Eye, mid-day, on a Sunday. A cold rain set in this morning, melting a heavy layer of snow that’s covered the ground for the last two days; the kind of snow that drapes the trees and ground in an exquisite silence. CNN is on the television, the newscasters talking endlessly about Donald…

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Thyme Alone on the Hill

It’s 24 degrees outside. The snow is falling, and I have meatball and chicken broth soup slow cooking in my little country home. I can smell the onions and garlic, the carrots and celery, the chicken broth and thyme. I’m totally alone, and I’m happy. I have a beer in my hand, a cigarette burning…

Need and Meaning in the Time of Thanks

The leaves have fallen and their musty scent lifts up from the woods around the house and drapes itself around me like a shawl. The beautiful red maple leaves lie dormant on the forest lawn along side the oaks and birch and lowly locust. Their decay, although colorful and dramatic, usually takes me down a path to a past…