For two hours and more, we’ve driven from our sleepy, little town to the bustling metropolis, which boasts an international hub. Dashing in to the bus through bitter cold and

“I think people are wimps.” This was the proclamation put forth by Mr. Schrock, conserver of words, who nailed his feelings in five. Tired of anemic winters where the high

Outside, the sun is shining. Here, in the Land of the Sun and the Beach, there’s a chill in the air. My thoughts turn towards home. Home, where the wind

I’ve been a news junkie since the tender age of 6. That’s when, according to my mother, I’d come to them with news of the day. Startled, they’d snatch up

“Oh, my heart.” That’s what I thought when I read it, pressing a hand to my chest. There were sometimes no words; no syllables, vowels, or consonants to offer when

It happened at the grocery store. We were on a mission, The Mister and I, to bring home the bacon. And the milk and the cereal and the eggs and

Sitting ‘cross the table, two mugs placed just before, I’m telling a story. Of a mother, filled with fear. Of a long and difficult journey. Of the slow, sure steps

Christmas is over. The stockings that were hung ‘cross the bookcase with care have been pillaged. Plundered. Left dangling and limp by the villagers, names traced in glitter on each

It’s New Year’s Day. Mister comes in, man boots dropping snow on my kitchen floor. “Let’s go,” he says. And for once, I say it. “Yes. Let’s go.” Not in