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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

Nose MOHS...


My nose job last week was a MOHS job. As I had to wait about forty-five minutes between carving sessions, I had some time to make a start at writing a short story. It's an Appalachian take on Greek mythology about a mobility challenged blacksmith named Festus who is trying to find his mother who abandoned him as a child. Tentative title: Hephaestus By Any Other Name. I'll keep you posted.

Henry's books.

 

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