and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody;not even the rain,has such small hands"
-From 100 Selected Poems
by e.e. cummings
by e.e. cummings
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The Blessed Hope
The Quiet of the Foothills Tucked deep in the folds of the Appalachian foothills, there was a world where time seemed to fold in on itself, ...
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Here I sit - nursing a scotch, looking out at the pink and orange reflection of the sunset on the mountain—pondering my solitary act of civi... -
“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first t... -
The Parable, Redacted A long time ago, a grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing. A wretched thing, laboring away in the heat, a...
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