Four Thirty

Time stops in the dark. Before dawn, it yawns and stretches. Putters. Lingers. Moseys. Puts on coffee. And sits. Waits. Makes room. I remember endless time before clocks and counting, when the first day of school and the last were drawn out like Highway 16, Macon to Savannah. Nowyearscram instead of   c   r   a   w… Continue reading Four Thirty

Chautauqua

I hadn't really wanted to get up when the alarm went off at 3 a.m. for a shuttle to the Atlanta airport at 4 a.m. for a flight at 8 a.m., but I did because she'd asked me to come.  This was the daughter who had only recently begun to like me again, and I… Continue reading Chautauqua