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My Golden Goose Pond — Part Three
As a small pond grew and changed, so did I. PART THREE: Year of leave-taking.
As a small pond grew and changed, so did I. PART THREE: Year of leave-taking.
As a small pond grew and changed, so did I. PART TWO: Year of refuge.
As a small pond grew and changed, so did I. PART ONE: Year of discovery.
I was awakened by the sound of titanium hitting a wood surface and instantly remembered that membership has its ignorance.
“Sometimes escape can be an art, or a selfishness, or just a gift you need to give yourself.” — Stephen Dunn, from his poem, “Mercy”
“I read a review of the new Philip Roth biography the other day. The author quotes Roth saying, ‘aging is a massacre.’ I agree!” — our devoted friend, Jan, April 5, 2121, 20 days before her cancer diagnosis.
It is 11 p.m. EST, and I am safe and sound asleep when the sun rises in Kyiv, the capital of Ukraine.
A new leather recliner and a curious cat with claws present a fur-midable challenge.
The winds of your life are shifting when you realize that you are buying more sympathy cards than birthday cards.