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Everyone in the concert hall, including the orchestra, waits for my daughter to play a single note.
Looking around my hotel room, I’m suddenly aware of all the concentric circles.
There’s something missing in our country’s formula for a modern-day Thanksgiving.
The tiny owl sits silently on my shoulder as it decides when to fly back into the dark forest.
To my eye, cemeteries have a solemn beauty. I don’t think that makes me creepy.
It’s a beautiful evening on the National Mall and Jesus keeps reminding me he’s near.