A man at the bottom of his purse would be foolhardy to waste the last of his coins, yet a man in his fifth or sixth decade squanders his time as though he has years to spare!
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Stiffly, and with arthritic joints, the old man made his final entry into his diary. With slow, deliberate strokes that he could hardly see, his withered hand transcribed his final thoughts. With great effort, he rose, shuffled across the dimly lit room and lovingly restored the volume to its proper place. The bindings were brittle, the pages yellowed. The leather jacket was worn and faded. A lifetime of living filled pages of his book, and there was a lifetime of dust accumulated on the bookshelf.

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An August twilight lingers like the taste of a kiss or the blush of an unspoken desire.
 
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I once knew two sailors from Connet’kit

who took out their boat and wrecked it

they ran it aground, on Long Island Sound,

and are now feeling quite wrechit!

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The passage of time flows like a brook, sometimes languid and meandering, sometimes swift and turbulent… like a fallen leaf set adrift, each of us rides out the flow. Some remain caught in whirlpools, some are moved ahead swiftly by unseen currents. We careen, spin, join together and separate again. Sharing a common journey, we are sailors in the stream of life.

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God must be a joker…He gives us so much ability to do things, and so little time to get them done. Just about the time we get up to speed, we run out of track!!

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Wisps of ground fog, the last vestige of a cooler night, disappear into the rising sun as I pedal north. By the time I reach the bridge at Milan, the fog has lifted to reveal yet another beautiful summer day. From the banks of the Androscoggin River, a lush, verdant carpet spreads in all directions to distant blue mountains. It is my good fortune to know every morning, even if only for an hour or two, that the world isn’t totally  destroyed

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eeyuh, wen tup to the Dummah Town Hall for the annual Dummah Soup Suppah fundraiser for the Dummah Library. Had some wicket good pa’tridge soup, the venison chile and some corn chowda…yessuh, we sho’ know howta have a good time up heah in these parts! Today I played my gitah at the Lancastah FAyuh. It was ay wicket good time! Between the roostahs and the cattle calls, it was a tad difficult to be heard, but I somehow managed. Y’all got to come sometime, y’heah!

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