If summer were a physical place, I'd have to be dragged out of it every August, kicking, screaming and cursing. I fight with the end of summer every year and though Labor Day doesn't technically mark the close of the season, something about the month of September just reeks of the death of all ...
12:57 AM
"You rememba this," my Gram used to always tell me after lathering me with life lessons. But instead of remembering her words, I would always remember the moments. Her eyes, glazed by glaucoma, commanded eye contact under the hood of her deeply furrowed, salt-and-pepper brows. She held my gaze. She ...
Short Stories: the power of few words
It's crazy how a three-word answer can scream its own story. On a quest for insight, I posed a question to a number of my friends: "If you could go back in time and tell your 14-year-old self one thing, what would it be?" Most people in my circle know the drill, If Ro texts you out of the blue ...
As My Summer Slips Through My Fingers (Updates and Acknowledgements)
I recently heard someone say that August was the Sunday of summer. I disagree. I actually like Sundays. August is usually the beginning of my downfall. I, like so many other people I know, struggle with seasonal depression*, so much so that I start to feel the cold creeping into my soul within the ...
Speak of the Sunflower
I took on the challenge of writing myself in 100 words for Ms. Minnie G's Your Life in 100 Words. I had fun with it! When you tell the tale of Roco Price, speak of the sunflower. Thick, strong, stalk, yellow face smiling toward the sun, growing toward God. Mention her mantra: write, read, ...
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