Posts by pwsadmin

Camera lenses, like childhood memories, make spaces appear much larger than they are. Like the Dallas book repository, like the Lorraine Motel, Selma emerges, from the cold rain, small – only a…

Once in Decatur, Georgia, a conversation on Race led to one of my hosts getting up and coming back with a folded white piece of paper. He extended it out to me…

In the dim gray light of a rainy Thursday, reluctant Birmingham looks like every city. From my 12th floor window, I’m thinking about my mother in Richmond, Virginia, 96, spending most of her days…

Solamente la vida I am writing a song now that I do not know how to write. The music came in the case with my new ukulele. Honestly, I picked…

“The Children of the Whitney” by Woodrow Nash