There’s something about the first frost that always makes me pause. The stillness, the breath in the air, the way the garden seems to hold its last bit of color. It feels like both a beginning and an end.
Category: Creative Writing
Shadows of Summer
August is ending, the air is cool, and the orchard is full of whispers...
Upon a Smoky Morn
A pall of smoke, like ghosts that softly creep, Hangs heavy 'cross the vale, the hills asleep
Dear Me (but shorter, younger, with more scabs, and a love of cheese)
A letter to the kid I used to be—and still carry with me.
The Last Good Hill
Something is coming—something no roar can stop.
Say the Thing
A kind word doesn’t fix everything—but it can stay with someone for years. Say the thing. You never know how far it might carry them.
I Speak Best in Ink
I’m not easy to know. But if you’re still reading, that’s a start.
Per My Last Sip
By cup four, Burt was in space, the chicken had wings, and I was sweating coffee. The story wrote itself. I just held on.
The Last Walk
In memory of our sweet Lila.
Silence Speaks
The best parts of living happen when we stop talking...
The CJBuzz 