Ranch House Days Good bye main road. You’re traffic was enthralling, but I’ve got to think on my own for…
Early Sunset Another cold blast dooms prolonged fall hopes, chases me indoors to toast toes by wood stove’s glow. My…
Scandinavian Sausages and Bad Bank Cards “This one’s from Norway,” she says, placing the platter under my nose. “It’s made…
It Really is Just About the Maquillage, I think I loiter around my face each stroke of a cosmetic pencil…
On Digging, a Response to Seamus Heaney As I stoop to pluck a stubborn weed root, I hear the rough…
Holding Her Lamp, I, too, Reveal Heart-Truth --with gratitude to Eva Dűrrenfeld A chance encounter. Curiously turning pages, suddenly shaking,…
walking alone --Salmon River at Three Rocks greet this place aloud hello tender hello is doorway to prayer is doorway …
Son of a Farmer The farm is not completely gone, even if the bricks deny it, and the sidewalks pave…