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Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning

Seriously? You’re going to write about the crashing waves? Yes! Can you think of anything more exquisite? Seriously? Look at the golden mustard and pink phlox rising up against the silver of the sea. That’s much more interesting. No…not now,...
Grandmother

Grandmother

My grandmother was a teacher when most women stayed at home. She rose before the sun each day to scribble down a poem. She helped her ma and pa, would feed the pigs and steer, then walk past fields of wheat and corn, to teach children she held dear. She married and...
The Artist’s Clock

The Artist’s Clock

Some may need a clock to tell them when to start and when to stop. But this is not the way to Art. Does tree say to its sap, “Not now? Don’t feed my tendrils bending low, against the setting sun. No more your flow? The 17th hour is here!” Or what of aloe...
Picture of Piano and Violin

Picture of Piano and Violin

The creature was alone, it’s color interchangeable, black then white against ripples of water’s movement. The statuesque neck of a black swan. Or was it white? A swell of sound and bird spreads its wings rising from water’s surface. Sheer beauty splashing jewels like...
Up Against the Shore

Up Against the Shore

It is anchored there, like a buoy of protection, informing me of my inability and limitations, as if to say, “Do not swim beyond this point, silly child.” The ropes, north and south, define the boundaries. But I am stubborn, the sea beyond looks bluer. The sun...
Wisdom in a Rose

Wisdom in a Rose

My eyes follow the ants marching in a straight line up the side of the house heading toward the kitchen window after first discovering them assembled in clusters beneath the pots of oregano, basil and fennel that I keep forgetting to snip for our summer suppers and I...
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