How much love can you get into a box?

Today, I found a picture in a box that brought back a million memories. It’s a picture of my grandmother’s house. Grandma and Grandpa Macon lived in this house from as early as I can remember up until their deaths, and remembering is what I started doing when I found the picture. Look at it. What do you think? Pretty much a dump isn’t it? I guess, in reality, it doesn’t matter what any of us think; what matters, what I want you to know, is just how much love you can get into a box that size.

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The Calling of the Winds

Colin was a seer and always perched himself on the highest steady branch on the giant willow tree that anchored itself on the shallow bank of the lake. And now as always, when the sun rose to cast its fiery glow across the lake, Colin began his daily flight. This morning, like every morning as far back as Colin could remember, he circled the glen once and then began his journey to purvey all things the Council believed lay within its realm.

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Flannel brush fire

My dad smoked Prince Albert tobacco and rolled his own cigarettes. Sometimes he did a good job, and sometimes maybe not so good. He was able to roll a cigarette while driving our old pickup truck down the highway and maybe that doesn’t sound like much of a feat to someone who can text their undying love and devotion to their 17 year old girl friend while navigating city traffic, but put that high tech Romeo behind an old truck that doesn’t have power steering and suddenly a whole new level of dexterity and expertise is required.

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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood….

There is something about this poem by Frost that cuts to the quick of the human experience, that acknowledges the cause and effect of our choices in life. It encourages us to question how we came to be who we are, and to look for an explanation of how the parts of each of our lives, parts that make up the sum, were collected through our individual experiences.

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