Sung Home: Chapter Fifteen. {fiction}
After a prayer of thanks to the deer for giving its life to me, I worked fast to get it gutted, skinned and cut up into pieces for the walk home.
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Sung Home: Chapter Thirteen. {fiction}
No home. Nothing. As I stood staring, paralyzed in the moment, time stretched and contracted for seconds, or for hours. I couldn’t tell.
A Letter to the Wild Ones.
Maybe you've decided to work in office jobs as little as you could and to make as little money as living honestly requires -- because typing at a computer and sitting down all day long, all week, all life even, would drain your heart. Perhaps you've even left a love because you needed to grow, ...
A Mother’s Heart. {poetry}
It is my hope that my daughter and I will continue to live in the present and choose love over resentment. This poem, Mother’s Heart, was written for my daughter, whom I love with every drop of my being.