The English Language Class
To begin again after seventy, to change
from fluent Amharic, Ukrainian, Russian
to I speak a little English,
To begin again after seventy, to change
from fluent Amharic, Ukrainian, Russian
to I speak a little English,
Dear Almanac Reader, I need you to do something right now, before the end of the year. Take a moment and make a contribution to the work of the Almanac.
I want to share a few of those important things with you this week, as well as an important note to our faithful readers over the past two years. We are changing more than just our calendars. We are going through some changes here at TWISP, and we want to keep you with us as we transform the new year and ourselves.
A brief taste of winter was scooped into our season’s palate for a moment last week. It was good to feel this check of reality in today’s atmosphere where reality is such an easy casualty of insane ambition and a pervasive willingness to accept entertainment as fact. It is no irony that the past month’s weather reminds us of the discourse of the airwaves.
On the 153rd anniversary of the largest mass execution in the history of the United States, the hanging of thirty-eight Dakota men in Mankato for their role in the U.S. Dakota War, contemporary Dakota writers speak to Presence.
In Saint Paul, our sisters and brothers invest sweat and tears in freedoms, artistic and otherwise. Sometimes we offer a welcome hat, and other times we try our best to offer refuge against the protestations of neighbors who have forgotten how and why their great grandparents came here.
Almost a month late, a thin version of the winter blanket has come to the landscape. Shifting landscapes meet changing climates that days later gave me the opportunity to be outside in a strange December balm.
Counting the brave faces walking the globe this week makes both the season and the daily walk seem pale. While the wanna-be rulers ask us to peer into their kaleidoscope of logic, the most important things we see and hear are coming from the crystal clear honesty of artists confronting the issues of the day head-on.
Oh, hear November, we have missed you, and now you are here. Not that we really missed you, but Thanksgiving is coming and we can’t have it without you.
As the real world continues to creep closer than nostalgic comfort, one might engage in the tendency to hide. We can pretend that the lines drawn on our geographies will keep us safe and sane, but our hearts have always been more porous than walls and fences. We can hide, or we can engage and shake the truths out of the confusion. Art helps.
This is that hard part of autumn for me, when all the baseball is done and the rain has knocked the leaves off the trees, still with their warm-colored hues, but helpless on the ground, maybe to be raked or swept up or maybe to wait for the snow blanket where they will sleep until it is time for baseball again.
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