Autumn on the prairie
Every autumn, Libby Albers makes a pilgrimage to a place of phenomenal fall foliage. Mile after Technicolor mile she treks amid pastel pinks and rich purples, passing brilliant reds and tawny blonds in the cool, crisp air.
Every autumn, Libby Albers makes a pilgrimage to a place of phenomenal fall foliage. Mile after Technicolor mile she treks amid pastel pinks and rich purples, passing brilliant reds and tawny blonds in the cool, crisp air.
Even if Gary Hammitt gets convicted of his fifth DUI in the deaths of a Wichita woman and her 4-year-old daughter, he still would not permanently lose his driver's license.
What you see next to this column is a representation of me. Not all of me. Not even most of me. You can't see the long, jagged scar traveling from my ribcage to just south of my navel, the path surgeons took to relieve the extreme ulcer pain and stop the internal bleeding I'd endured for years. You can't see the bulging blue veins on my left hip, products of two blood clots, or the way my left leg swells to twice the size of my right. You can't see here any of the imperfections I see in my mirror...
Who won the vice presidential debate?