Working from home you must adjust your expectations of the mornings. No more stumbling across darkened parking lots fumbling for your key fob. No more friendly banter in office hallways. No more gossip before you settle in. The highlight of the morning now is a glass-walled Bodum french press. The squeak of my cupboard door, … Continue reading Things Change
Maybe it’s strange, but I really don’t mind the darker mornings in the fall. There’s something cozy about the dark pressed up against my window panes, and the way it makes the light inside my house seem more golden. I enjoy the extended mornings because in the summer, I’m usually awake as soon as the … Continue reading Maybe It’s Strange
They hobble toward me through the early morning fog. Dawn has not yet broken, and the sky above the fog is slate gray and steely. Porch lights and street lights are pinpricks of blue, star-shaped sparkles high above the street. But the figures coming toward me are huddled and shapeless. Their toes seem to find … Continue reading Apocalypse Over
I wish sometimes I could just live in a book and never come up for air. I think of all the stolen moments of my childhood, holed up in my bedroom diving into worlds of espionage, 18th century Britain-- even worlds made up from myth, legend, and hearty imagination. I remember sunny afternoons on a … Continue reading Never Come Up For Air
Are we just the sum of everything we’ve ever said? Does this include the angry things? The drunken confessions. Distracted outbursts. And misery fueled rants, colored by depression, pain, or anxiety. If everything we’ve ever said is sitting in the docket, which of us would receive acquittal from our judges? If the real you or … Continue reading New Religion
I reach down to open the saddlebag on my boyfriend's Harley, and realize, once the top springs free, that the back half of the bag is no longer attached to the bike. "Oh. Uh-oh," I say, wiggling the hard bag up and down. "The back bolt is gone on this saddlebag." "Seriously?!" My boyfriend pops … Continue reading Saddlebags and Zip Ties
Up before the sun. Outside my windows, streetlights shower diffused light down through fog and mist that stalk white beneath the trees. The street is an alternating pattern of shadow and light. I stand inside my neon-lit bathroom, half-awake now as I braid my hair, pop contacts into my eyes, and yawn. Stumbling through my … Continue reading Runner’s High
The town is a throwback sort of town--the kind that experienced renaissance for about twenty years after World War II and then slowly began sporting vacant and fading storefronts like gaps in an aging man’s teeth. Its claim to fame is suffrage and some fictional movie that the current generation finds a symptom more than … Continue reading A Throwback Sort of Town
If I could write you a love story, I would write of far away woods tucked into mountain folds and of twisting roads under autumn leaves. Brooks that babble down rocky ravines. And somewhere above the valley floor, a little cabin that is ours. I would wash away the worries and the grime, the cares … Continue reading Happily Here and Now
Road trips always begin in optimism. Even road trips on a motorcycle.
Seeking Prose 