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 stretched out like Highway 16, Macon to Savannah. Nowyearscram instead of c r a w l… Continue reading Dark Thirty
One True Love 