By Sallie Bingham:
In the midst of the confusion and chaos of this presidential race (fortunately, it seems to be clearing), I’m comforted by my daily walk to the pond.
Pip always goes with me and waits patiently while I sit on the Poets’ Bench, halfway along the rough trail. The bench is a rough-hewn creation for two, although no one else has ever sat there with me. I keep a sun-worn red bag there, with a small collection of Emily Dickinson’s poems in it. I try every day to memorize a few more lines.Read More »