“Be gentle little thunderstorm; the world is just not ready” ~ A.J Lawless On summer days beside the sea, there is a gentle rhythm to life. The tempo is lazy, and the timbre is mellow and mild. But as the oppressive heat of mid-day reaches its peak, the horizon begins to blush a bluish-black. A…
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I am not fond of the game of Hide and Seek. As a child, I would participate, but with unspoken hesitancy, for my inclination was counterproductive to the goal of the game. My desire as a child was to disappear. At five years old I can remember hours spent contemplating the transience of life and…
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There is a house that I love. It is not mine and its inhabitants are unfamiliar to me, but it is an alluring structure. Magnolia trees line the gentle curve of the drive as if to beckon visitors to lean in, and the neatly trimmed lawn and carefully curated rose bushes that pepper the exterior…
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Keith loved the weather. He could innately discern the distant mutter of an approaching storm and his senses were inexplicably keen to the faint suggestion of rain in a misfit breeze. He would often, with the expectancy of a child on Christmas morning, stand outside, his face gently turned upward, watching the icy grey sky….
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Though I am a summer girl, I will admit to having an affection for autumn. In the southland it begins with an understated change in the light. I appreciate the subtlety as the bold summer sunshine yields to a deep flaxen blush that casts a fertile glow over all earthly things. I delight as the…
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Ivy Jane was not like other little girls. With coffee-colored curls and rich mahogany skin, she had a magnetic way of commanding a room. Behind the beautiful glow of mischief in her dusty brown eyes was a silent and mystifying yearning. And like the sound of a classical piano, her soul swayed through the profound…
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There are things my heart and mind will never be in concert over. The death of someone I loved is one of those things. Human nature can be so contrary. How do I grieve for a man who in life found a million ways to both infuriate and endear? The anniversary date of Keith’s passing…
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It is clearly winter. The landscape outside my window this morning is barren, and the air is choked with dark fog. The land is bare and brown, dry and cold and the tree branches brittle and stark strain against the malicious bitter wind that threatens their very existence. It is clearly winter, and the shadows…
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