
In This Issue

They began to stroke each other’s hands and then to kiss and fondle.
more
The danger was my own carelessness, and now I was waist deep in it.
more
Once, when young and proud, I tried to grasp the enormity of the past.
more
Burton couldn’t contain his exuberance for the material he loved.
more
Boys called him Lorry Raja and imitated his high-stepping walk.
more
You decide that in this city all things are possible, even happiness.
more
When he kisses me, my heart flutters in my chest like swarming bees.
more
A Matter of Necessity
To rescue ourselves, our fellow beings, and our places from the rampage of big ideas that feed upon without recognizing all the things of the world, we need an adequate language—a language not
alienated from us by divorce from things and therefore at the service of our exploiters and oppressors. We need at the very least a speakable inventory of the things particularly belonging to our own places and lives that are worth saving.more
From One with Days
I met the retired welding teacher
at the Colonel’s.
We were the only
customers. He had a big soft
drink. We sat in the lipstick red
booth. He was a
veteran. He thought he would
never come back to Big Tree,
but he did:


