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And We Were Young

I will tell you now that words come hard for me. Perhaps that is why I value them so highly. And I make no apology for being simple where most men are complex and complex where many men are simple.

Fruitless Wait | Elisabeth Macdonald, Watch for the Morning

Kate and Mary Ann Hamilton, mother and daughter, are nineteenth-century Mormon women whose romantic dreams are serially shattered during the forty years spanned in this novel, a story, hopes its author, that “has something to…

Memorial Day, 1978

Morning 

My father’s body sounds, 
those noises keeping him alive, 
I hold dear and dumb, my own: 
his son’s heart pounds

Road to Damascus

At evening Paul contemplated two trees on a distant ridge. They were both firs, one tall, straight, conical; the other curiously warped midtrunk into a great bent bush of a tree. The crippled tree troubled…