“Peek-a-boo!” As Emma’s peal of laughter filled the sun-dappled air, her parents, Tracy and Eric, turned from the picnic table towards the sound of their daughter’s voice. Tracy gasped. Their daughter stood before an ancient, sun-kissed tree, slowly covering and uncovering her eyes playing the age-old game with— “What is that?” Eric asked, his voice
There were no more surprises that day until the sky began to darken. She looked to the west. “Oh!” she gasped, as a face formed before her eyes. “Hello!” she called. “I guess the Universe is always saying hello,” she said as the clouds rearranged themselves and the light faded from the sky. “You just
During her walk that afternoon, she came upon her next surprise. A face. Staring up at her from the asphalt. A mask of varied color, with one eye coyly closed, the other staring boldly at her, and green lips curved in a cupid’s bow smile. “Hello,” she said to the leaf, before the wind carried
That morning there had been a lady bug waiting to greet her on the bathroom mirror. It seemed an auspicious event. “Hello,” she whispered to her polka-dotted guest. And though it was not a response she could hear, she felt sure the ladybug returned her greeting in kind. “I wonder what other surprises might be
Her reward for standing still: communion with a winged, wild, beauty.
She wonders when there will be time again to court her Muse. To take her for long, solitary walks, and plunge with her deeply into dreams, where they dove together without caution, through tempests of color, desires, emotions, only to merge back into the world, no longer ordinary, having been touched by the sublime, having
“Looks like rain,” Emma’s Grandma Frances said, looking up. Emma squinted up at the vast blue sky, then at her grandmother. “Where?” she asked. “On its way.” Grandma Frances nodded. “Let’s you and I find a place to wait it out.” “A place to hide?” Emma asked, excited by the idea of a new game.
Silence… …sweet, blessed void… Refuge. Solace. And… …the only space… in which she can truly hear.
Walker flinches at the sound of footfalls behind her. Jogger, from behind: “On your right!” Walker, as Jogger passes on the right: “Thank you.” Jogger, passing: “Welcome.” Then, the Jogger looks over her shoulder—eyes wide, brows furrowed—before galloping down the hill. Walker wonders: What?! What are you staring at? Why are you frowning? Her self-consciousness
Someone left a book in her mailbox today—”Woe is I, The Grammarphobe’s Guide to Better English in Plain English.” There was no note, only a faded orange post it with her name written in all caps, in unfamiliar handwriting. She knows she’s not the best at grammar. Lie? Lay? Which is it? She can never