Shaking Things Up

My dad was a baker.  Not in any official capacity mind you, but when he wasn’t tending the animals on our small family farm in Vermont, you would find him in the kitchen baking bread, and pies, and donuts.

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A Weapon Against Death

Outside my window the late summer sun filters down through a canopy of oak and cedar. The oppressive heat of August has shoved its way into September. It leaches the moisture of yesterday’s rain out of every blade of grass as it covers Texas like a weighted blanket.

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The Sound of Silence

For someone who has a strong  dislike of close spaces I’ve found myself, more than once, descending into darkness.

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