It's raining again. Gray drenches the sky and crimson leaves confetti slick sidewalks. I sit in my orange writing chair finishing an assignment when my preschooler pretzels his body over mine, presses his face in close and demands, "Dance with me! Dance with me!"
dogs, especially puppies, the friend who texted, “everything ok?” when you didn’t show up...
Life is brief and storms are to be expected. It’s also undeniably dazzling...
The lightning bugs are gone. They’ve been replaced by the cicadas — blaring their calls of chicka-chicka, chicka-chicka, zaazz, zaazz. There are legions of cicadas, I suspect, hiding in the evergreens that overlook our backyard and in old oaks that line our neighborhood, aptly named Forest Glen. Some other writer might romanticize their singing, but … Continue reading How to survive a pandemic without losing it
So here, take this iced beverage and here, make yourself comfortable and here, let's peer a little closer at the jewels of a midsummer night.
Sunlight warmed her shoulders, and she felt something fluttering inside her, too. What was it, peace? Or maybe anticipation? She’d nearly forgotten the feeling.
Why can’t I focus? I write this in my pandemic journal, because I read journaling is a gift during this time and because “you’ll want to tell your grandkids about the 2020 pandemic” and because I already keep a journal. Focus? The situation at hand requires me to “work” from home with my preschooler underfoot. … Continue reading Work, worth and paying attention in the time of coronavirus
“There’s no treasure here,” my son said, shaking his head while we strolled city sidewalks...
It snowed last Wednesday. Big wet clumps floated down, blanketing our hellebores, their full fuchsia faces turned up to the clouds as if to say, “Go ahead, test us.” “Has it always snowed this much in April?” I asked Jay, glancing out the window, not waiting for an answer. “Seems like it’s snowing more than … Continue reading What flowers know
Photo by Hoang Loc Whenever I replay it in my mind, the scene starts here: Me at the rear car door, hovering. Him with his head craned back, stalling. “Mommy,” he starts. “What Jack?” My words are staccato. My toes aren’t tapping, but they might as well be. I’m sandwiched between my three-year-old and the … Continue reading Saving daylight — with him