No Point in Crying over Spilt Pea Soup
This morning, still bleary-eyed with sleep and the zombie-ing effects of nighttime Zicam, I decided to make a vat of pea soup spiked with cayenne to combat my and Hubby’s cold. Pretty simple, right? Just dump the frozen peas into
Now Am Found
Garish, sodium gleam blinding all except to the hum of Darkness.Onyx Darkness impenetrable, eyes unaccustomed,Pupils flicker from pinprick to marble.Precariously negotiate winding journey, No Map, No Direction.Blind seeking blindThudding heart, surging pulse join in the steady cadence-Hum of Humanity.Unfurled blanket
Angel in Disguise?
Over the course of the eight years my family lived as caretakers on Springcreek Christian Camp, toward Memorial Day Weekend we learned to watch for the summer volunteers who’d come shimmering down the lane in their RVs and Winnebagos like
These Arms Were Made For Hugging…
This week on Yahoo News I read that country music singer Taylor Swift surprised two male Auburn students with something they had been seeking for many months…a hug. That’s it: a hug. No big smooch on the lips; no backstage