“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.
Be here. Away from the busy world, the trap of your thoughts, the ache of your heart, your disbelief. Within this simple time and place, this verdant space, anything can be unwound. Feel the earth. And let the breeze surround you in lavender-scented possibility. Come, sit in the center, in the womb, that is both
There were bends in the road she could never have anticipated.
Today she walked towards the sound of gently rolling water, away from the noise of cars, and into a paradise of chirping birds, and tall grass growing green, to purple to gold.
Warming morning rays have not yet reached her tissue-paper-thin wings. She is caught, immobile.
Silence… …sweet, blessed void… Refuge. Solace. And… …the only space… in which she can truly hear.
“…nine, ten! Ready or not, here I come!” Janey laughed, and scanned the grove of trees for her friend. Emma covered her mouth to keep from laughing and crouched low to the ground behind the tree. She’d picked the tree because it wasn’t very cute—kind of like a slug with arms. She thought it might
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
Like gossamer dream catchers, clouds lay down upon the sky where their filaments collect hope and desire as fragile as a wish.