8:18
The sculpture caught me by surprise, like some malevolent spider on the wall.
As I wander around this small, tourist town, I just keep thinking, “Why lighthouses?”
This is the best 8:18 moment in a century.
It’s our fourth time and it isn’t getting any easier.
I’m walking in downtown Houston when a sign gets all in my business.
If change is inevitable, why is it so painful?
My daughter and I are gawking at a mushroom that is small, shiny and gaudy purple.
As the captain scans the watery expanse for feeding birds, I am distracted by thoughts of Simon Peter.
The long balloon is quickly transforming in my brother’s hands.
I have found a sure-fire way to connect to the greatness of God.
My grandson has cars on his mind.
The coin, heavy in my hand, is quite a find.
The taste of the berries, each one a burst of sweetness, is an extravagance.
Why do we equate blue with sadness? Two other descriptors fit better.
How do we describe a sound as familiar as the surf?

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