His new world was sprouted up from the once sweet waters, the living wellspring where all rivers begin as delicate threads and weave their way across the land, carving canyons and filling oceans. A single crimson seedling, carried gently from age to age in a now-tattered pocket, had, at long last, found a place to begin its tedious labor. When he discovered the spring, The Guardian, stood beside it for too long a time, pondering the birth of nations. He stared at the tiny see

YOU. ARE. LUMINOUS. I know, I know, some days are dark days, troubled days, bed days under blanket days. Some days are off days,...

(Excerpt from the novel Frances Grubb by Angie Tonucci) “This,” Brigid began in barely louder than a whisper, “is the legend of our...

incredible plants, Technicolor, Emerald City green, impossible leaves, Jurassic, from before everything got so much smaller, shelter for...

only hot things today please, warm things only, everywhere is cold, please can I return to my queen-sized bed full of toasty cats, I...

I don’t know how to answer the hair color question for my driver’s license because like the rest of me my hair isn’t just one thing it’s...

The thing is, you never really know a person until after he’s dead and maybe, not even then. But you can sure tell a lot more about him...

I didn’t know what I would find there in the house that looked a little like the one I lived in a hundred years ago, in that other life,...

velvet soft like roses pink like peony like sweet pea except even flowers aren’t really quite exactly that shade of pink they wiggle...

Dear Spider who lives in my car tiny architect of daily windshield webbery You are quite well-traveled clinging tightly to the glass or...

We were almost exactly the same age, twins practically, metaphorically. Born fifteen days apart, I came under the sign of the Crab, ruled by the moon and twice as fickle, she was a Lioness of Leo, brazen as the sun. And when I died, a little of her fire went out, I know, because I saw it go. We’d lived our childhoods a few miles apart, never once meeting until adulthood. We’d both spent our summers in the salty Atlantic waves, our winters wishing for snow days that rarely ca

I once heard that Hemingway said we’re all broken, that’s how the light gets in, which is lovely, but Hemingway never said it. What ...