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Fragments from Floyd

No Place Like Home

Walking the old paths home

Vanity, vanity. All is vanity. So says the watcher in Ecclesiastes. What appears permanent is only so, briefly. Our forever notion of things–mountains, marriages, health, home–can wither slowly like grass in the summer heat or be burned up in an instant conflagration before our eyes.  A fine knife-edged balance exists between is and was, a … Read more