So there we were, already locked into it, no backing out now. “It’s the course we are on, sorta call it Manifest Destiny,” I said…
The clock strikes at 12 AM, Eudora though she should really come down out of the tree. She hadn’t meant to stay up there this…
This poem is for the Miracle Girl and her current WordPress challenge. Visit her blog to read the rules and write your own story or…
Sometimes you can hear the echoes of years when the wind whistles like a screech owl on those farm to market roads and highways that…
The laundry woman weaves heavy footed down rows of tables and stacks of plastic baskets singing a silent litany to the many colored clothes. The…