Until All the Matches Are Burnt
I am driving to the Grand Canyon on a chilled, moonless night. My headlights catch a small structure on a spit of land fronting a dormant volcano. It is the Chapel of the Holy Dove, an isolated sanctuary amidst a woodland of ponderosa pines. * I wrench the door open, …
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A Catalog of Forgotten Joys
By mid-January of 2021, winter already felt tedious and draining. I wondered if I’d suddenly become a person who hates winter. What had I ever loved about that soggy-socked, dry-aired, and brutal season? But I was still dragging myself out of the house for my daily pandemic walks, begrudgingly pep-talking …
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