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I was nineteen years old when I first read Adrienne Rich's Twenty-One Love Poems (second slide). Now I'm the same age she was when she wrote it. Forty-five years seemed like an impossibly long way away that summer I first read her words in a book tha

Winter isn't my favorite season, but there's something beautiful about how it slows the world down, how it puts the trees to sleep, how it sweeps a blanket of snow over the ground.

Life lately feels like moving through a movie: sometimes surreal, at

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