I guess books remind us that one person’s experience could speak for thousands and we could share some intimacy with strangers, make the world a smaller place.
The most precious things we keep hold meaning for only us, and it’s those things we surround ourselves with as time takes all the rest.
Time moves with the same erratic force of those bleating jazz horns like locusts devouring anything in its path.
It is the best day of my life when I get a call from the editor asking me to report on a town meeting and submit a thousand words. Even though it’s just a weekly it’s my first time published, my name in print.
Looking back on your life is like looking out of a plane taking off or touching down. Trying to make out familiar places below, or leave it behind.