In winter, I plot and plan. In spring, I move.

With age, life becomes complex and difficult, often fraught with risk on several levels, from the practical to the fiscal.

You can pass all the gun legislation you want. None of it will make me feel any more or less safe than I do right at this moment.

I got my heart broken. My spirit got shattered and mutilated. I will not be coming back from this. I don’t want to.

My feelings for you shame me into silence.

August brings into sharp focus and a furious boil everything I've been listening to in the late spring and summer.

What I've found is that a lot of soldiers are surprisingly apolitical. Their reality is, "Today I'm going to leave the gate for twelve hours, and I'm going to make it back to the dining facility by sundown with the arms and legs of me and my buddies intact."