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Waiting For Yesterday's Midnight https://flic.kr/p/2i5mE6T
#chicago #night #dusk
Awaiting the train back across the border, as dusk falls
The Meadows,as the spring sun declines slowly, as if the western sky was a chaise longue to repose upon at the end of a day's work.
Taken this day, 2024, a colourful dusk over the Union Canal https://www.flickr.com/photos/woolamaloo_gazette/53602823020/
FlickrColourful Dusk
Nocturnal post box, and the last splash of colour in the dusk skies
Union Canal at dusk this evening. A week or so ago it looked more like this https://www.flickr.com/photos/woolamaloo_gazette/54369973308
Getting lighter each evening now, amazing the difference in a week
Good morning. 
11 March 2025
I think back to my days in Vietnam, in 1972. I used to write letters to my grandmother—I still have them somewhere. Back then, calling home wasn’t really an option. A few months ago, I opened a couple of those letters and realized just how atrocious my handwriting was—more of a scrawl, really—and to top it off, my spelling wasn’t much better.
It’s been years since I last sat down to write a letter. With global telephone coverage, email, and texting, I suspect handwritten letters have become a rarity. Still, we’ve been lucky enough to receive a few letters from one of our granddaughters.
Funny thought—'kind of a scrawl, couldn’t spell at all' sounds like it could be lyrics in a country western song.
"In an age like ours, which is not given to letter-writing, we forget what an important part it used to play in people's lives." - Anatole Broyard
