par Godefroy Dronsart Let us ponder how different words are than they were even a short time past. Let’s travel 29 years into the past. The mail, when it came after three or six weeks, was a drive away at the post office box. Sometimes accompanied by a small bribe if it was a parcel. […]
Art.Death.Pandemic.Recognition. Time is a strange journey. Look fair away, it’s done a loop, the stars have spun upon their teetotum sky, washed away in sun’s arising, sandcastles in the sky. Look hard close, it grinds still, ossifies to bone, petrifies to stone. Sunday morning is the morning for the making of pancakes in our household, […]