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The more things change...

Change is not so much what we make as it is what happens to us unawares. Not everything that changes is progress but it is inevitable that everything changes. The seasons flow on, all too quickly. We tighten our life-vests, and try to steer clear of the rocks. Along our way down the river, we are grateful for every resting place. Here's ours. Above, as it was in our first August here in 2016, and below, as it is now. We still miss the old cherry tree in the foreground of the first photo. It died the year after we moved here. We've carved a garden out of the hill and planted blueberries on the slope above. One thing hasn't changed. We're still here. It's still home. We'll hold to that reality as long as we can. henrymitchellbooks.com

Winter light...


 

We see more clearly by winter light,

The homeless Child who sleeps among the beasts

Out back, because his folks were poor,

And couldn't pay for proper bed.

We hear more clearly in winter night,

His crying at the hunger and the cold;

We up the thermostat, pretend,

His wail was only whining

Of the winter wind.

 

Henry's books.

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