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Deeper Than Skin

A stranger just suggested I find a “real nice photographer” because the images on my wall don’t do me “justice.” Listen: This person...

Unmerited Be The Way

This has been a year of trials. Yes? We can agree? This has been a year when we have been tested, likely in every area of our lives, in...

Wrinkle of Time

I don’t always see it, but the wrinkle between my nose and my lip reminds me of my grandmother Mary. She had that wrinkle. You saw it...

An Ode to my Childhood

This is one of the pastures I grew up down the street from. In case anyone ever questioned my farm girl past. It is where I spent most of...

Blowing in on the Wind

It the is the eve of my birthday and a brisk, whistling wind flutters through my window and tickles my blinds. It’s early, before six,...

Catching the Dreamcatcher

When I was a child, my family would travel to visit grandparents in Indiana. Along the route were several long, dark tunnels through...

What's That Word?

My tenth grade English teacher, Mr. Shank, used to describe my writing as “loquacious.” I think also, “verbose.” I always thanked him for...

Unhurried

Lately I’ve been dreaming about my childhood. I grew up in the middle of farm country in central Pennsylvania, where it was never unusual...

Attaboy, Clarence.

I can hear Auld Lang Syne playing in the apartment next door. My zip code is in Los Angeles, but the walls in this building are New York...

Soft Edges

Easter Sunday was cool and gray. Any brightness came from the glare of thick white cloud cover. To be honest, it felt a little like salt...

Thank you, Leonard

Day 20 of my self-isolation offers a beautiful morning. The sun is bright but not yet imposing. The birds sing. The air is the freshest...

Day 14

I moved to Manhattan exactly one week prior to the September 11 attacks. A day that most, if not all of us, will remember with great...

Day 10

Wednesday morning. My Day Ten. It’s still dark outside. Phoebe, my thirteen pound spaniel mix, always finds her way to me sometime during...

Day 7.

It is Sunday night. Jobless and quarantined, I am sitting at my rickety kitchen table. A flea market find, painted haphazardly with a...