On Growing New Life

Truthfully, I just wanted to throw them in the trash and start over.  I had given up.  They weren’t pretty anymore and just too much work. They were brown. Crinkly.  Past their prime.  Scorched by the sun. My sweet mother, ever concerned about the landscaping of...

The Legacy Of The Scar

The light hit it perfectly and I saw the pink indention on his cheek.  The scar from his first Christmas season. A scar that was the result of his seven-month-old-self crawling over to the stockings hanging from wrought-iron snowflakes on the mantle. He had just...

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