The tang of juniper, the dew-wet grass
That grabs your ankles, apples for the taking.
The haze between the hills like smoke at Mass.
The trees; His stretched arms aching.
The flickering lamps, the fire, the curtains shut.
We’ll watch TV, we’ll get the breakfast baking.
We sleep like snow that’s frozen over but
We’re bleary-eyed in waking.
The beer on the table with the week-old fruit.
The shovelful of rain, the lake ice breaking.
As Advent passes, Christmas follows suit,
And even love needs making.
—Daniel Rattelle
Trump for Women
On Wednesday, President Trump signed an executive order titled “Keeping Men Out of Women’s Sports.” It requires…
Give the National Endowment for the Arts Back to the Public
For decades, Americans have become increasingly alienated from the American arts establishment. The main source for their…
Pro-Lifers and the Trump Administration: Wins, Concerns, and the MAHA Opportunity
Anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear knows that the pro-life movements have received some…