It’s been almost 15 years since my family buried a time-capsule near our cabin. In a grand ceremony with Kahlua in our coffee, we found a perfect spot in the mountains and dug a deep hole beneath the shadows of… Read More ›
Prompt
Sush
From this point on, you have fifty words. Until the day you die. Speak today and silence may claim the rest of your days. But unspoken words will expire with your final breath. Think, not for moments, but for days,… Read More ›
A Letter In Trees
After a five minute hike through fairly dense woods in Santa Barbara, I found a climbable rock and pulled myself up to its flattest surface. I shielded the sun that poked through the meadow’s canopy and settled onto the cool, biased, granite…. Read More ›
Writing Challenge: Writerly Reflections (Why I Write)
Wayward words tumble like elbows, knees, and toes fall into the gut of a man pushed down a padded flight of stairs. Padded stairs? Yes, padded stairs – just in case I’m that man, so that I can survive to… Read More ›
Teen Age Idol
Who did I idolize as a teenager? I gave myself sixty-seconds to think about it and concluded that the better question is who didn’t I idolize as a teenager? Like many, during the awkward teenage years, I idolized anyone that:… Read More ›
I Know You Are but What Am I?
What if someone (let’s say Pee Wee Herman, for kicks) told you that you could travel back to any time and place? I pondered this question for a few minutes and toured just a few of the almost endless possibilities…. Read More ›
Time Is on My Side
as time counts up the more remarkable we need to be to remark on what it is we want others to see as time counts count down our memories grow expectations molded for us show time slows for the fortunate… Read More ›
Taking Stock in Our Kitchen
I’d like to think when Aunt Helen said “if you’re not cooking, get out of the kitchen,” a special exclusion applied to me. Me. I wasn’t even tall enough to see down into the treasured stockpot filled with my Nonni’s… Read More ›
The Mower in the Window
She danced in the den, swinging from the door to the open window. She protected our secret through whatever addiction served her. The glare behind her loose curls told me everything. I walked past her, and wondered if I whispered:… Read More ›
Stream of Words
Stream of conscious. Streams are a conscious thought, now. I used to collect tadpoles with my brother. I used to pretend the lazy water turned into rapids and my tadpoles were saved from impending death-by-rock-and-water. Just maybe, I saved them…. Read More ›
eternal Domnation 