2016: the Year of the Broken Home

There’s something inside that feels empty. In my mind I’ve come to a well, a resting and gathering place, with a ladle in my hand. I reach down again and again and though the bucket isn’t full, the water-line is rising.

Way back when I heardan old tale of a leaking bucket. It never could stay filled up all the way, and by the time the owner returned home from the water source there was nothing left inside. But the pathway he had walked, dusty and barren, began to grow. The water that sloshed...