By Michael Willard
Over the years, I have committed sufficient words to paper in books, articles, columns, and songs to fill the pages of “Gone With the Wind” multiple times. It’s a solitary journey without an applause track.
You grow accustomed to the lazy rhythm. You have to love the loneliness, rolling around in it like a shaggy dog on grass after a sudsy bath. Only dying will set you free, and you’re not certain of even that.