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 MoreToday I went to the shoe store looking for a pair of neutral flats and walked out with pink high heels.
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.
Read MoreI finally pulled another metaphorical splinter from my finger and got a good look at the specifications of what has been a constant, although subconscious, irritation during the past eight weeks.
Read More