A strange homecoming.

Three days before arriving I stood on a rise in the desert; below were hundreds of steel buildings housing thousands. People heading home, people heading to war. The haze and dust of hangs with the smell of oil in this small country, and even in February the heat in the late afternoon makes the horizon… Continue reading A strange homecoming.

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Aging Without Grace

One part of aging is watching yourself become the things you once disdained. The other part is this realization, which would have horrified me in my thirties, simply amuses me at fifty. Back in the day, so to speak, I rode a silver Cannondale road bike but eschewed “roadie” culture: no lycra, padded shorts, team… Continue reading Aging Without Grace