Already I have shed the leaves of youth, stripped by the wind of time down to the truth of winter branches. Linear and alone I stand, a lens for lives beyond my own, a frame through which another's fire may glow, a harp on which another's passion, blow. The pattern of my boughs, an open…

I sit by the window with my morning coffee. It is quiet except for the hum of the fan in the old wood stove. The sun brightens the pages in my lap, Madeleine L’Engle’s Glimpses of Grace. The shadow of a bare Virginia Creeper branch moves back and forth across the page. I wonder if…

Going to Walden by Mary Oliver It isn’t very far as highways lie. I might be back by nightfall, having seen The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water. Friends argue that I might be wiser for it. They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper: How dull we grow from hurrying here…

Through the heads of the passengers milling around the train station, he saw her . . . dark brown hair, full lips, and those legs! He made his way toward her, emboldened by the uniform he wore. She saw him coming towards her. He looked like movie star Van Johnson . . . tall, thin,…