Author: Christie Purifoy

just beyond the bridge

Photo by Kelli Campbell I live in a landscape made for ghost stories. The weeping willow tree has turned the color of a copper penny. When fog curls around the trunk, I half believe the headless horseman will pass by. Perhaps the bright sunshine of summer washes out shades from the past. Or, perhaps my mind has been turned by pumpkin carving and costume making. Whatever the explanation, now that it is fall, I feel as if shadowy figures move just at the edge of sight. There is an old farmhouse down the road. Hessian soldiers once camped on...

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i have written no essay today

And I am sorry. I wanted to give you metaphors that sing, but I have only this empty page and a blinking cursor. I feel embarrassed by this blank page, as if it exposes something of which I am deeply ashamed. It seems to matter more than a blank page should. This page is my life, I think. I rush and worry, trying to fill it up with words. I am terrified that I might run out of words. photo by Kelli Campbell Typically, I fill my empty pages quickly. So quickly, in fact, I rarely notice their emptiness. That this...

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