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I sit in the garden of a church. In its quiet sleepy mornings. Later, in the afternoon heat. There’s always shade, on the grass, or on the cool stone steps lined with daisies that aren’t called daisies. I sit here and feel miserable, or calm. It’s best when how I feel doesn’t matter, but how…
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I want to write a blog. It’s a battle between two parts of me. One says, you shouldn’t write anything. Any words will be embarrassing, saying too much, letting secrets slide. Or they will be too poor, simple, empty. The other says, year after year goes by. You lock everything inside, maybe you don’t need…
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