Write? Today? Impossible! I’m stuck. Under water. Inspiration eludes me. Am I to make something out of nothing? While I lament my creative poverty, a wiser voice comes to the rescue.

As a child, Memorial Day brings visits to the cemetery, its grassy green fields blanketed in silence, winding paths, and strange stone markers…

Many people recognize we live in times that shake our highest values and deepest sources of meaning to the core.

The work day requires me to sit–immobile as rock. My fingers do the walking, tapping their way across the computer keyboard, recording colorless data…

I feel trapped in a small, dark place of limited movement and choice. I think of the caterpillar inside and imagine its cry…

Midwestern prairie strikes me inconsolably barren when I first visit: vast swaths of flat earth, featureless corn fields, incessant wind, brutal heat.