How I love these red dirt roads and tall pines. But this familiar road is not the road I am writing about today. And I am not exactly wr...

We had him in a place he did not want to be. He was marking his time. It was the place, the first of several, where the man who I th...

Anne Lamott, in talking about writing being a bit like watching a Polaroid develop (where we don’t quite know how the picture is going to tu...

I still don't have much of anything to write about my weekend. I have lots of feelings and thoughts and emotions. Mostly they feel like...

(A sneaky beginning to a glorious story of a tribe of women, buffalo women, who finally met each other face to face after years of interacti...