bundled against a stiff gray wind and grayer clouds, I walk the winter graveyard of summer’s fun   I’ve found that a good place to put a...

we’re losing the dance of powdered wings   nectar drunk through a straw   the most fragile breaths to ever create wonder   butterflies...

first one up, mom wakes and dresses the kids, helps pack the bookbags, hustles them to the kitchen to eat their cereal, pleads they hurry...