New Year’s Day, Plus One

Penning “2018” on my water bill payment, I realize it’s been fifty years, a full half-century. If not now, when? That novel of social and personal revolution, summer 1968. Better get to it. Staring absent-mindedly at the browning hulk of Douglas fir, I see needles and branches, lights and ornaments, all dry and brittle. Like…

This website uses cookies to offer you a better browsing experience. By browsing this website, you agree to its use of cookies.