The House Finch

There was a pair of house finches building a small nest outside our window. I’d watch them weave it all together—the female, with her muted brown feathers, working relentlessly on her art. The twigs meticulously placed, one over the next—how they intertwined with one another. The male, with his bright cherry red head and breast, …

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On a Hot Tin Roof

It’s taken me now just about a month to come up with words to express my feelings of our time. I’ve thought about it a lot—nearly endlessly, to be honest. The words I would normally write feel cheap—because it hasn’t really gotten better, certainly not for many of us. And it might not get better …

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What Becomes

“For a moment, I expected the impossible. And then it happened.”   Where are you? Wild winds whipping up against a desolate landscape. Cold skies and a raging heart. You have been uprooted. Torn from the comfort of the ordinary, you have been exposed. But do not go blind, little dove. Look around you. The …

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oneirology

I remember the back of my uncle’s head.  The smell of the cigarette he smokes, wafting through the window.  His red neck in the driver’s seat my knees brushed up against the back.  Going somewhere, as a family. I am starting to make promises to God and placing strange things that I find upon the …

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Water Weavers

It feels strange, to wake up in a world without them.  A sudden stark realization that they are, simply put, no longer there. And yet, we transition.  This is the work of the mourners—to ease themselves back into life.  The men continue on, their emotions dragging them so deeply that they touch the bottom.  The …

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