She is a rich soil, plowed and seeded, then left to grow until harvest.
A few decades ago, whenever I found myself feeling frustrated about something someone did or said, I tended to declare that "I hate people!" Mainly, I declared this to friends: friends who continued being friends despite my many declarations of hate. (I was a ball of frustration at that time.) I'd forgotten about that hate-spoutin' … Continue reading i hated people when the world was nice
Virgil and Sharon Smith measure their day by television programming. As they tell guests during commercial breaks, "...two o'clock is Bonzai Gunslingers. Then at three we watch Entitled Rich 1950's Girl Pseudodrama. After that is Guess the Price of This Crap..." From morning to night their day is jam-packed. Right now, it's 8:23 on Wednesday … Continue reading banana bread, anyone?
I am eight years old in rumpled shorts and t-shirt meandering through an urban cavern of white painted ceiling and walls. False lights fail to mimic the sun in that space full of wood and animals. The salesmen are tigers in suits, smiling, gesturing. The furniture lay scattered about the floor: fallen, dead things polished … Continue reading a new dining room table
I write because I have to. When I miss a day of writing, I feel the grumblings deep within, banging and clanking like the bowels of an old ship retracting its anchor. I become unmoored and drift aimlessly with only the barest of conscious awareness of the world around me. The world and I become … Continue reading why i write