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...
The first morning of the Great Darkness, I slid out the back door into deafening silence. The door shuddered down the track and then glided closed again with a groan. I reached up, up – stretching my leg muscles with tip-toed feet in worn sneakers – then...
One Friday night when I was 18, a friend and I left to do one of those college visits, the ones to see if you want to spend huge sums of money on over four years, and most likely the twenty years following also. I had a soccer game that night, so we embarked on our,...
“So easily ‘spirituality’ becomes a cafeteria through which we walk making selections according to our taste an appetite… confinement turns into concentration, illusion transmutes into hope, death changes to resurrection.” – Eugene...
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...
I remember 1987 as the year of desperation. It was also the year I graduated from college. Working part-time as a hostess in a restaurant to pay for tuition, I realized I was employed by the primary industry keeping the economy alive in Tulsa, Oklahoma during a severe...
