Stories
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I run through rows of corn taller than my twelve-year-old frame. The fuzzy, prickly stalks pull at my arms and legs and, occasionally slice like a paper cut into my skin. Somewhere, deep within the tidy rows, a bare circle of ground hides like an accidental fort…that magical spot where the tractor turned around and
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I am up at 1:00 am to the sound of my daughter coughing. I find her stumbling, half-asleep toward my bedroom. She’s scooped into my arms and placed quietly back into bed. A hand to her forehead, then a thermometer. The fever pulsing through her body for nearly a week fights on. I stumble downstairs,
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In my chair, in a snug corner of the living room, I watch a flawless fall day unfold out the window. My view – tidy rows of little colonial townhouses and fluffy clouds against a brilliant blue sky. The leaves blush, submitting to the cool air in a transformation to golden ends. We’re here. We
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This is our last summer in the small Massachusetts town we love. Come fall, we’ll hand the keys to someone else and start a new journey in Connecticut. Until then, we spend these perfect warm-weather days soaking up our favorite places and traditions around town. From evening walks around the town common ending with a
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I miss writing and telling stories. The last few years really sucked the creative energy out of me and somewhere along the way, I decided I don’t have anything to say — anything worth saying, worth reading, anything that hasn’t already been written or read. Be that as it may, I miss words and stories.
The Wheat Princess 