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Guy in a Coffee Shop

November 26th, 2017|Connection, Neighboring, On the Road, Story Keeper|

I want to paint a picture of a guy in a coffee shop in North Carolina. Exposed brick lends its wall space to chunks of plaster, gray remnants, white wood trim. It’s 8:30 am and I’ve been writing for an hour and a half. Now there is a line stretching to the door. I’m a stranger in this neighborhood where it appears everyone, even the guy who is sitting with his head in his hands at an empty table in a coffee shop, is known. The hipsters roll out early here, and ironically I hadn’t noticed him until much later. I was focused on the task at hand. Clearly planned and written in my notebook were all the things a [...]

Space

July 21st, 2017|Growth Patterns|

My grandmother lies in the space between this world and the next. It was a year to the day when my mom slipped into the other room to grieve for the woman trapped inside her physical body. It was a year to the day when I heard my grandmother take a dying gasp for air. I held her hand. I waited. I watched her chest sit still under the covers. I stared deeply at the creases on her forehead and looked for a flutter in her eyelids. I waited so long that tears poured down my face and I wondered if I would be the one privileged enough to hold her hand as she was released from the weight of [...]

Trajectory

June 24th, 2017|Connection|

A beam of sunlight points to an arrowhead in the sandy bottom of Plum Creek. Picking it up, my wondering starts. I’d been looking for an arrowhead for many years. Hearing they existed in the area, I’d never seen a real one. Turning it over in my hand, I imagined it’s uses over the years; flint rock to start fires, tool for creating, spear for survival. In my imagination, I associated it with a human and thought about ancient footsteps on this ground I was walking. It made me wish a person could hold onto something and understand the completeness of it. Looking at an arrowhead’s markings, a scientist is able to determine how it was made and most likely [...]

Fish Story

June 16th, 2017|Growth Patterns, On the Road|

I was a fish out of water. He pulled my waders from the fishing box, tags still on. Somewhere over the years, I’d forgotten this was something we would to do together. He tied flies to tippet for the boys, while I ventured out into the Henry’s Fork with my rod. I sent my line out. There was no rhythm. Fish were jumping all around me. After a particularly bad cast, I saw an 18 inch Brown swim over my feet. I felt at peace on the river, even though the boys were causing a commotion on the dock behind me. Slowly I got my arm back. They were critiquing my back cast and my husband was trying to give [...]

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