In the Middle of the Night
Why the River is Better then Potters Field
I woke up crying in the night and had to wonder why. I can hear the waves of the Pacific Ocean breaking on Olas Altas beach outside, shifting the sand with the change of season. Nothing to cry over. Yet listen—there is someone deep deep inside, grieving. All I can do is get up and write. Maybe the words will roll out like 30 pieces of silver, the price paid to someone “selling out” and I can use the blood money to buy a Potters Field-and bury my dead.
Did you ever have such a dark thought? It is 2:00 in the morning for god’s sake and all I can think of is how I sold my horses before I left Wisconsin all of 25 years ago. Oh, I still see them running through my d