One.

And then two

satellites,

moving through the star spray

above the pines

remind me that this world has been touched in

too many ways to ever be new

again.

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I write from my pantry. (Not literally, because it's too crowded in there, but figuratively.) Everything I write can be traced back to that closet full of sustenance-- all that is dear and delightful as well as painful and confusing. Formerly I taught language arts and social studies to middle schoolers, and now I stay at home with our two young daughters, closer to our pantry.

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