This was written as I tried to process my mother towards the end of her life.
Thought vagabonds from brook to brook, Pouring over the eddies of youth, Ponder aging streams, As they stumble over rock, Or murmur as they float a leaf to deep, Sun flecked silver lines. Bodies widen as they age, Winding slowly through alluvial soil, Settling grit, rich, silty earth, Plucked up in youthful springs, Pulped as … Continue reading Water Cycle
Walk between the lines, Quiet a century and a half, Except for whispers through a foggy shroud, Below squirrel teeth on hickory nut, Quieter than browsing deer, The echo of shot, Rebel yell, cannon, Rebound off stone sentinels. - Any summer-day family picnic, White cloth laid on blood-soaked earth, Children raise stick guns To fire … Continue reading Chickamauga
No one expected it. But she looked right at him and clear as a bell said, "Don't take me yet. My momma isn't here." Tweed had heard of this sort of thing, of course; you can't be an EMT for thirteen plus years without hearing such stories. He just hadn't expected this to be one … Continue reading The Butterfly Effect
I’m not someone to walk straight up to a thing. I meander. If you are prone to saying, ‘get to the point,’ you’ll have times where you just want to skip over this blog altogether. Digital worlds travel from point to point. Analog worlds have an infinity between the points, like the galaxy contained in … Continue reading Something to Write About