I’ve always liked the word “confluence” for the fact that, if I could see  and hear through the wall in front of me, I’d experience the joining music and rush of Goose Creek where it merges with Nameless Creek. Both of “our” creeks are jump-across-able streams alone; together they gain breadth and depth, power and voice. So I woke up this morning with a gentle rain on the metal roof overhead and have been spinning over and over this notion of flowing together.  It …

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