The lemon-white of the sun glides up over the tree line flashes of burning white through the leaves Things begin to glow: plots of dying grass buttercream siding dusty gray window screens The breeze brings a noisy chorus crackling brown leaves grayish old branches creaking pebbles carried along the concrete But above us the clouds move in silence drifting through the blue coming and going And tiny seed pods fall from the sky flittering their delicate wings Birds squawk cicadas chirp and I sit Autumn sings and I am listening….read more
Morning tea gone cold Hands stiff with the early chill Fall settling in Part of the Ten Minutes series… A challenge to write for ten minutes everyday, no matter what. Learn more… Join the movement!
The accident wasn’t her fault, not directly, but she knew they’d say it was. She had been unstable for a long time and deep down, everyone was just waiting for her to mess up. Waiting to see how crazy she really was. But Marilyn’s thoughts hadn’t gotten that far yet. Instead, she stood there holding his limp little body and cried, buried her face in his still warm chest, and wept with more emotion, more pain, more agony than shed felt in months. She had been numb for as long…read more
Today I took my daughters to the Y. We stumbled through a Zumba class, then BOSU, then swimming or treadmills… it was tiring, but rewarding, nonetheless. It was my first time exercising at the Y, theirs too… and, at first, I didn’t think much of it. But sitting here now, reflecting, I’ve realized how important these experiences may be for them… for us. We all want this perfect ideal family. We want family meetings and vacations; home-cooked meals and holidays. I want to rarely have to yell (rather than daily),…read more
somewhere beneath the blare of sirens the rumble of traffic intermittent, but always there leaves rustle in a gentle wind and that couple argues in the alleyway. we wake up to the too-loud buzz of the fridge water rattling old pipes planes ripping through the atmosphere we wake up, with resistance our hands still dirty clothes slung on the floor the mattress sunken in but the birds still chirp, hungrily and we hear it, as if for the first time we hear it, as if it weren’t always there. then…read more
I am a writer. That goes without saying. But balancing our passions, our callings, our crafts with the everyday responsibilities of parent, spouse, breadwinner, confidant, business owner… you pick your poison… well, that is an art we so often lack the skill (or will) to master. And our writing, our passions are always the first to suffer. So I am starting this post series, “Ten Minutes,” in an effort to get back into the habit of writing. Ten minutes may sound minor, trivial even, but when you go months without…read more