I will remember the weary gasped “Hello my friend!” Three difficult days of driving so many miles in dense fog, hail, and heavy rain, I had not seen my anchor’s face. The mountain is called Fischer’s Peak. All who live here call it…..
Someone’s home. Looked to be newly made. A home. Is that not an innate longing within everyone…to go or be at home, to know home? But which or what home? And somehow the image manages to look somewhat precarious. As I stared at the nest and thought how…..
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