Recent Posts
Portrait III
in the abandoned garden, she waits,
cold marble lips,
feet melding with the block of stone
that gives her the semblance of life,
heart that has never beat buried deep.
Life in the Slow Lane
When I originally had the idea for this article, it was going to be all about how life in the slow lane can…
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The Formative Power of Stories
There’s a wonderful quote by Meg Ryan’s character in the movie You’ve Got Mail : “When you…
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The Winter Sky
There’s something strange that happens only on certain winter nights when the clouds hang low in the sky, catching the city lights and…
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Benediction
She walks on wounded feet, carries white roses to the willow by the pond on the hill: three roses, the number of those…
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Defining Mother
My earliest clear memory of my mother goes like this: I was four years old, and I loved to swim. My mother took…
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Breathless
On the nights when God is silent, she curls up against the dark, her breath a thorn embedded in her throat. At last, all the…
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A Single Act of Compassion
I was twelve years old when my father was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was one of the most terrifying and lonely…
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