(At Left) Cotton candy clouds, warm sunlight dancing with dust motes, trees and
flowers stretching skyward as if about to break out into song, all trademarks of
the deceased Painter of Light™, Thomas
“Myth is the mountain whence all the different streams arise which become truths
down here in the valley; in had valle abstractionis.”
—C.S. LewisHow does one picture the pathos of humanity, of
How much do detectives need the dead? In the first Duino Elegy, Rainer Maria
Rilke wrote that “In the end, those who were carried off early no longer need
us…But we, who
One Mother’s Day in elementary school, my family arrived home from church to
find that my sister’s parakeet, Duncan, had eaten my parakeet, Blue Jeans, and
had discarded the remains of
This year’s Golden Globe and Oscar winning The Great Beauty opens with Stendhal
Syndrome: faced with the majesty of Rome, and hearing an ensemble singing David
Lang’s “I Lie” on a
