Summerflies

Summerflies

Somehow she's four years old. She wants her hair long and curly. She prefers dresses to anything else. She likes to sniff my neck and say, "Mom, you smell like roses!" Even when that can't be true. Because we're both sweaty and covered in chalk from the climbing…

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Fast forward

Yesterday, we lost an hour. Which reminded me that I've lost far more time than that in the last year and a half. Life has been good, if fast and absolutely full. Since my last post, I've traded a dream job (teaching American and British literature at the University of…

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A Quiet Sunday

A Quiet Sunday

Carrots and celery are chopped and piled high in blue stone bowls. Onion grows clear and fragrant over chicken breasts in the slow cooker. I slice a small brick of yellow butter into a red mixing bowl. Each slice lands deep in the white mound of flour, baking powder, and…

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