We work our way next through a scruffy zone of ironweed, oxeye daisies and Queen Anne’s lace, then plunge to shade under trees, passing through a smattering of jewelweed, poison ivy and monkey flower. Then, at last, in deep shade, we come to water . . . Continue Reading
Clouds pinwheel
atop mountain-pleated land,
celebrating . . . Continue Reading
Growing tired of her chase, the child wobbles across the smooth creek stones down to other adventures, swishing the bottom of Mama’s much too big t-shirt through the water. The steady warmth of July fights off the chill of the mountain creek that has already numbed her legs and toes . . . Continue Reading
Filled with great emotion, I walked up to the backdoor steps of the new house and stood on the first step, unable to open the door. Tears welled up in my eyes . . . Continue Reading
The state of Tennessee condemned the Elkmont summer cabins asserting eminent domain over the use of the land. Summer families fought back, and a deal was struck. They could stay if . . . Continue Reading
Wistful air in the resting field of
The fallen and beloved, who
Have taken a lifetime to finally rest . . . Continue Reading
Annabel was tough, and she did not take prisoners. No excuses for failure to complete assignments were accepted. If a person was still drawing breath into their body, had blood coursing through their veins, and was still warm, they had darn well better have done their homework, or a browbeating ensued. She required book reports every two weeks. I remember vividly . . . Continue Reading
The man driver continued to pick up speed. While he concentrated on the road, Mrs. Sanders was able to free her hands from the twine, that thin type they use to bundle books. She pulled the bright red scarf out of her mouth, then considered her feet. They were duct-taped and out of reach . . . Continue Reading
I keep Great-Aunt Bonnie’s sewing box tucked away in a closet. Mama gave it to me long ago after Bonnie died. It isn’t really a box at all, but a big Christmas cookie tin . . . Continue Reading
Next morning Lottie joined the men kicking up dust on New Cut Road, stiff from a night on the ground and stretching their shoulder and back muscles. With her battered fedora pulled low over her face, Lottie looked at a distance like any other young hobo clomping along in work boots and overalls . . .Continue Reading