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I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. I looked closely once again to make sure. I could barely see the tall shape prancing in and out of the traffic. I squinted through the haze and then knew I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. “Yes,” I said to myself, “he thinks he’s a horse.”
By Richard Strozzi-HecklerDecember 1978Once they gave a war, and everybody came. They called it World War II, and the entire basis of this essay is that one man’s recollections of it — necessarily different from every other man’s — are worth preserving.
By Art HillOctober 1978Byron was born and raised in the City, but he was very unhappy there. He went to work every day in an office with bright lights and soft furniture, and though the people he worked with always seemed to have fun, he was usually unhappy. “I feel out of place,” he’d say, and he’d dream of the forests, rivers, and skies he had seen on camping trips to the mountains.
By Bill HerronOctober 1978With regards to changing the title from “That Very Special Romance” to “A Romance” I must raise the following objections and make the following suggestions. 1. My title has a certain acerbic irony not present in the truncated (emasculated?) form. The fact is there was nothing particularly romantic about my relationship with the little trollop.
By Jim ThorntonAugust 1978The photographs in this selection are available as a PDF only. Click here to download.
By Priscilla RichJuly 1978Except for a few independent strands, her soft white hair is pulled back from one of the gentlest faces ever to smile through a window. Her dress is plain, as comfortable as her worn blue tennis shoes, yet feminine.
By Judy BrattenApril 1977I have noticed that there are those who give spontaneously, unself-consciously. There are also those who have the same ability, but become distracted and brought down by the shadow of their own personalities, and a wavering results. In that instant of wavering, the gift melts. A state of listening grace evolves from instinctive setting aside of self.
By Elizabeth Rose CampbellDecember 1976Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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