Aldo Leopold's "shack" a gift to his family, and the world
Photo by J. Harrington
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Children, please read this and help where you can, in honor of your fathers.
Fathers, please read this and help where you can, for the sake of your children and every child.Here’s How You Can Help Fight Family Separation at the Border
Lawyers, translators, donations, protest.
Happy Father's Day! Remember, only we can make a better world for all of us. This morning's thunderstorms might make today's poem a seasonal misfit but it wonderfully captures the distinction between a child and a man. Real men know how to love.Here’s How You Can Help Fight Family Separation at the Border
Lawyers, translators, donations, protest.
Those Winter Sundays
Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?
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