I am a Freelance Writer with a Passion for Prose
Former Deckhand & Barista ~ Always a Dreamer & Eggshell-Walker
Lifelong Animal Lover & Whisperer ~ Ever the Student & Seeker
A Wanderer Longing for Freedom & Travel
Happily Lost ~ Luckily in Love
The World Outside
I know the world from my front porch. I know the shadows that fall on the lawn and the road from every hour of the day and every season of the year. I know the cries of the birds and which house they like to perch atop. I know the laughter of the children of my neighbors and which yards they come from. I can tell the difference between the footfalls of the mailman and the deliveryman who brings my groceries twice a week. I know every detail that I can see or hear from the shadow of my porch and my doorstep, but I do not know the feel of the grass in my own lawn. I do not know the color of the house I live in. I do not know the contours of the wood and stone that make up its exterior. The awning of my porch blocks out most of the world and the sun, and I sit on the small swing that my father built when I was a boy so that I might be tempted out of the house. I know that swing better than anything. It has been moaning more lately, and I suspect it will break soon. I wonder if I will stop coming outside when it does. Will I have it replaced? I hope so. I hope so.
As I place the lid on the milk jug and slide it back into the fridge, my phone rings. I roll my eyes as I read the name on the caller ID.
Katie closed her eyes and groaned loudly as she arched her back and stretched over the bales of hay beneath her. She tried to black out the loud music and cloud of perfume and cologne that overwhelmed her senses. The sharp hay poked into her bare legs and arms, and flies landed on her exposed skin, but she did not swat at them or stand to escape the discomfort. She kept her eyes tightly closed and pressed harder into the hay, embracing the hay and flies.
A Tribute to the Group Known Only As 🏡➕
If you had told me last year that I would spend the Pandemic locked in my room, playing a home design game on my iPad... Well, you might have gotten slapped at the stupidity of such a suggestion.
"I Love You, Mom" ~ In Prose Form
Some would say she is crazy, insane, bonkers, plum off her rocker. She would say that she lists a little to starboard. But if you ask those who know and love her best, than you would be well-informed that she’s brilliant, amazing, courageous, and so completely nuts that she will drive you to a madness much like her own. She is my strength, my past, my future, and my truest friend and confidante.
Mama Didn't Raise No Damsel
I was eleven years old the day that I successfully changed a tire for the first time. We were on the side of the road next to a bayou in southern Louisiana when our car blew a tire, and my mother seized the opportunity to teach my sister and I yet another survival skill.
Dreaming in Colors
“You're so pale,” they say – “White as snow, Skin like porcelain.” But what they really say is, “you’re so simple –
Where Gold Meets Grey
It flows through me, Like seaweed in the current. It bends and twists, But it never breaks. I feel its strength, And embrace its temptation.