Happiness is Warm Florida Sand

Bury me right up to my neck in the warm Florida sand, where I feel safe where I get a tan Where no one can do nothing to upset my feelings as pure as this sand in which I’m buried, right up to my neck, and from which I sprout, like a tree, out ofContinue reading “Happiness is Warm Florida Sand”

A story about church and trust and death

Monsignor Hannan reminded me of a wadded up piece of paper. Pale, bent, and curled up awkwardly at the edges in his arthritic stubs of fingers and permanently creased and bent black leather shoes. He had little, wet, blue eyes. Like someone had flung two droplets of water onto the wadded up paper, and they’dContinue reading “A story about church and trust and death”