My life is writing itself as a hymn. The melody keeps rounding, over and over, each verse stacked atop the other — four, five, six tall — the words glittering in the rhythm like fool’s gold lining a creek bed.
Read MoreThe dogwood, with it’s blush-dipped cream blossoms that once guarded the very center of the front yard, has been gone for twenty years now. Why shouldn’t I, with all of my goodness, also be uprooted and asked to leave?
Read MoreA few weeks ago I applied for an opportunity, which resulted in a very nicely-worded email informing me that I had so much potential, I was being placed on a waitlist.
Read MoreWhen I was a child on the shoreline, my sister and I would build sand castles when the tide was low.
Read MoreThis morning my spine aches right down the middle. I have extended and curled the train track and left a message with the conductor at the station about routine maintenance.
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