“When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent, which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent…”
-John Milton, “Sonnet On His Blindness”
There’s an alluring summer storm brewing outside. The bellowing thunder is in good company with the “hard rain” that’s falling. There was a time not too long ago, when it rained with such insistence that the only explanation was that Utah’s lover was unfaithful and all Utah could do to alleviate the pain was cry and cry. Continue reading
becoming brittany 