Always to want to
go back, to correct
an error, ease a
guilt, see how a friend
is doing. And yet,
one doesn’t, except
in memory, in
dreams.
The land remains desolate.
— From “The Tortoise” by Cid Corman

( J.BART RAYNIAK photo/The Spokesman-Review )

It’s Friday. The land remains desolate outside. What’s on your minds? We love your comments, but please remember — no name-calling. Had to kill part of a thread because of name-calling and potentially libelous words. Knock it off, please.