Just One Minute of Real Love

I’m a hypocrite. From shabby motel rooms, made less lonely by my dog on the bed, from Toledo to San Luis Obisbo, last summer I waxed poetic about the wonder, the glory and the healing tide of love.  But I never waded into the topic of the kind of love which opens your every pore by the mere thought of the object du jour of your desire. It’s because I’m a hypocrite and a chicken. I drove nearly 9,000 miles, just me and a big yeller’ dog, who neither drives nor changes … [Read more...]