Author: stephen t berg

  Through a phrase from Brahms…which ran through my head for an afternoon, I have suddenly come to see that there is a universality which is not of the conceptu...

  In the coral hours of late afternoon, we sit on a large driftwood log,our feet grazing the sand, curls of cigar smoke risingstraight up in the windless air. L...

  Robin sings loudest out on the Shaganappi, high in the cottonwoods, her shrill celebration of dawn liftsmy soul out of its shoes to touchdown on the helium-gr...

  Those days, I was rotten with virtue, and God was on my lips and Jesus in my heart, and I walked like a man lending a hand to the Holy Ghost; the Trinity, alw...