Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. –Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I, Scene 2, ll 214-15 The title of this book caught my eye as I hastily scanned the library shelf last week, looking for an audiobook to keep me company while commuting. The past few weeks have been especially difficult, so the word “Hell” seemed immediately pertinent.
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Here’s Jasper, my portly Paint, meandering through the early morning frost on recent chilly morning, as fog rose from the channel of the nearby Kentucky River. I think he could gain weight on a diet of air. While his two paddock mates have slimmed down with the diminishing of summer grass, he continues in his rounded state. Regrettably, I’ve had
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