Writing

The discarded mailbox with leftover mail in my yard was a time capsule, a relic, no longer existing in its purpose but a reminder of its fun

When we are faced with the decision of what to do now, what questions do we ask? How do we offer and express ourselves?

There’s a galaxy of good in your existence Though terror persists and hope seems hidden There are beautiful patterns aloft in the sky...

The vines are anchored to the tree are great, hairy, bulging ropes, winding up the rough bark like parasitic leeches. Wrapped in the...