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 constant tension prone to tip–in that direction only–in a single heartbeat. Such is life. She had been back to the site of the old home place before this recent trip …

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