Carl Winderl

the woman brought before My Son accused of adultery was me . . . could have been me, they ringed with their stony eyes and hardened hearts fingers itching, bodies aching to be next, too late to be the first to cast a stone before the One Who would know what it’s like to bear the Last Straw . . . . Continue Reading »

if I lived in Seattle at Christmastime I’d have committed suicide a long time ago it’s bad enough as it is each year over and over again in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania with the steel mills all shut down and now the K-Marts are too but I take down nonetheless each year at this time the plaster of . . . . Continue Reading »