Photo by Clara The day he died, we started to live. We were lucky that way – being alive. Many don’t make it. On his last day I was under...

On a wall, tucked in a corner, there is a poem entitled, A Man. It is primarily born from the sadness and mixed emotions of a daughter...

The church in the main square is emptying out and the bars and cafes are filling up on a shimmery Sunday in early Spring. Linda is on...