Reflections

August 31, 2025

There was a blue enamel mug that sat on my grandfather’s workbench for twenty years. It held nothing but rusted nails and...

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August 30, 2025

I remember my grandmother’s kitchen in late October. The air always smelled of scorched butter and the sharp, metallic tang of a...

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August 28, 2025

I am generally suspicious of the pastoral. We have a tendency to romanticize the quiet life, projecting a sense of peace onto...

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