Wednesday, August 21, 2019

The Sailboat — An Allegory

I am not alone. 

At first appearance it may seem so, but appearances can be deceiving. In truth, I have a relationship with many Beings. For the most part we live in harmony, but from time to time, we have our squabbles just like anyone else.

For starters, the water is my preferred environment. It’s my version of Heaven, if you will. What good am I without it’s presence? But together I am able to both float and even traverse upon its surface. 

How I long to glide through its waves. As she presses herself against my outer hull, I can’t help but feel the emerging elation whisk through my bones. We are making ourselves known to each other as I move through her.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The Angel in My Room


Charlotte’s Story—August 1st, 1900
(30 Years Old)

My father has given up all hope that I shall ever marry. At exactly 3:13 this morning, I reached the age of thirty and in the span of my three decade old life, I have turned down exactly seventeen suitors who have asked for my hand in marriage. Sometimes I hear people whispering behind my back regarding my choosing

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

MEMORIES of my GRANDMOTHER

If I want to conjure up my grandmother in my mind, I will think of the color yellow.

And the color pink.

Rose-scented cologne.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

When One Door Closes

The airplane engine roars as it crosses the sky just outside my bedroom. Every morning, before school I race to catch a glimpse of whatever flying contraption is zooming above. Still dressed in my pajamas, I push

Saturday, February 11, 2017

We the People

I’m a protector. Not by trade. I don’t get paid or anything. It’s more like my DNA has a code embedded within every cell that automatically tells my brain to jump in when someone needs help. It’s true. That’s the way I was built. Some people are driven to be culinary masters, others have a calling to be prolific composers, or

Thursday, May 26, 2016

The Tale of a Pencil

Recently, a friend of mine and I were reminiscing about a teacher we had 30 years ago in high school. Mr. Beard. That was his name. He drove me a little crazy with his strict writing structure. But he definitely made an impression on me. From time to time I think about him and that class I had so long

Friday, March 25, 2016

The Time Traveling Teacher


Here I was again. Stuck back in the past—without any money no less. Don’t get me wrong. I love the whole time traveling bit. It’s my chosen profession after all. But I can’t ever take any modern conveniences with me. Not that I care so much about that. I don’t need to be transported from one spot to another in a blink of an