Six minus one is five, and at sixteen, we seldom realize destinies are nothing more than beautiful orange and yellow leaves cleaving to branches in late October before they fall in a river bank.
Category: Writing
Infant Girl Houser’s Grave is Important, too
Her grave is important, too.
“Mommy, What Does Love Look Like”: Stories Imagined and Stories Told
When the darkest hour was not done and the mud feel from the mountain, yes, I slid. The tears came, and my anger, without a mercy for which a Christian sinner prays, set ablaze for those who demanded when they'd received. I collapsed upon the green shores where you once played and asked for such stories of mine. Then your father came home with your brother, and found me quiet ...
Gold of No Use Except to Me: a Short Corrie Poem
You said, "But Mommy, I want to go into the woods, too."
Remember the Times: a Joyful Corrie Reflection and Poetry Excerpt
Then are times, like now, when I come out of the winter. I feel the joy of her life. I feel the pull of her spirit. Her strength and humor then remind me of how she would want me to be after her death.
I Walk in the Tides
Wednesday was the first day I'd felt happy, since May 26, 2020. While I'd experienced moments of contentment, bittersweet joy, or laughed; I'd been divorced from happiness for a while. As Hayes and I went to school, Danger Zone came on the radio.
Three and Thirteen
By Rebecca T. Dickinson
The Switch, Bear Claw and a Fruit Cup
After all, life is not always filled with moments of fruit cups and bear claw tears.
Corrie’s Last Walk
I've experienced more life in 35 years than maybe some people want to feel. On Monday, pictures will pop up on social media of children on the first day of school in an unprecedented school year. And they should. Life keeps going in that way. I will share a picture of Corrie I have never… Continue reading Corrie’s Last Walk