On the last morning of Virginia's bloodiest year since the Civil War I built a fire and sat facing a window of darkness where at sunrise I knew I would find the sea.
But to the slave mother New Year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns.
Next Article
I spent every night until four in the morning on my dissertation until I came to the point when I could not write another word not even the next letter. I went to bed. Eight o'clock the next morning I was up writing again.
