Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies; Never seen by waking eyes. – Lewis Carroll And, in the still dark of night, suddenly, I’m awake again.  First I roll one way, then the other.  I’m hot, then I’m cold.  I struggle to get… Continue reading Chicken Soup for the Soul, and Calisthenics for the Mind