By all accounts, the world kept turning for one more year. The dark clouds at dawn grow slowly illuminated as the secondhand tick along our analog clock. The cars race down the road, the noise of their engines cut through by the sound of water as they pass through puddles
We waited in line at a special holiday sale, the line longer than usual, the packages larger than usual, and a cheerful, seasoned employee called out “remember this is the joyful time of year!” I wonder where the slow time has gone. Advent is meant to be a time of
Previously published in the Hughson Chronicle-Denair Dispatch. A year ago, I dared to hope. I wrote in early January, “The thing I dare to hope for is to publish a book, or at least accepted by a publisher, not just any book but the book I have been
