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        They finished the field, and he went home.  He found himself alone and made something of the time.           He sat on the porch as sun fell low smoking small cigar—Arturo Fuente, Hemingway Short Story; life was a never-end of short stories lived, written, and smoked.         He smoked […]

        He dreamt her in burgundy and brome again.  Highlights of her hair as rays of evening sun, lovely and long and falling from shadow of roots—like shadow of cloud—to touch of bed and spread of brome; white painted toes of her bare and crossed feet in sit and gazing on the sun.   […]

               He felt the low unsettle and hollow of kind that comes in dissonance from sin, when one senses and knows their soul apart and distancing from God.                He never found a way to make it better—never by himself.                Always, as he had learned through Church’s teaching and practice of the Sacrament—it required […]

               “One cannot do it all.”                This, they both knew and understood.                To succeed in one way—devoting effort, love and time—came at the cost and perceived sense of failure in another.                “One cannot do it all.”                One has to choose.                “What is it that really matters?”                Answer speaks in […]