When disaster strikes, we reach for the familiar — something sturdy like the trunk of a tree — and hold on.
I wrote this post in 2016 and Sheri McGregor put it in an anthology, a kind of “Chicken Soup for the Soul” for nature freaks. The essay would belong to Sowing Creek Press for a year following publication after which I could do anything I wanted with it, such as post it here on Plastic […]
Four weeks ago, Bob suffered an impressive heart attack and we both fell off the map.
They say you never miss the water ’till the well runs dry.
As the details around the insurrection settled into my chest like a bad cold, I realized it had shattered my belief that regardless of our political leanings, we were all Americans who held some things sacred.