Photo: KMarsh / Shutterstock.com You named me after three tombstones in Laurel Hill Cemetery. Your freckled hand on your swollen belly, your light gray eyes scanning the marble and granite slabs. You were running out of time. You said it was the touch of cinnamon in...
Photo: Carlos de Paz from A Coruña, España, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons He had crossed A Quintana dos Mortos for the same place and at the same time for years, and yet he had never seen that woman before: dressed in white light she was sensually laid down on...
It’s that time of year when the eucalyptus trees peel their bark like wet swimsuits and let them slap onto the ground, as if they could step out of the soggy pile and kick it to the side. They bare their long trunks, poised on the precipice over New Brighton beach...
It’s a bright July day. We’re driving back from Rosemarkie Beach when you ask, ‘Have you ever seen a clootie well?’ I’m certain you know I haven’t. I’m a Londoner who grew up in the wide spaces of the American Midwest. You’re an English ecologist inhabiting the...
Photo: nyker / Shutterstock.com Miggy’s going to make history tonight, my boyfriend says to me, the Michelob sloshing through his words. The 500th win is ours tonight. A teen flips a number on the fan-made sign from 496 to 497. My boyfriend’s shoulder bumps into my...
If you happen to be driving through the mountains of West Virginia, and if you happen to be going the long way to wherever you’re going – because Tucker County is always the long way, unless you’re specifically going there – you may cross a bridge, and go into a town...
