Reflections

March 31, 2016

I remember sitting on a low stone wall in a village outside of Florence, watching a group of teenagers race their bicycles...

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March 31, 2016

The air at midnight tastes of ozone and damp concrete, a sharp, metallic tang that settles at the back of the throat....

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March 30, 2016

To wait is to become part of the landscape. In the deep woods, time does not move in a straight line; it...

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