The day is hot. Hot, and I’m exhausted, and sluggish, and full of effort from the heat. So sluggish I say let’s drive to the river. All summer long I’ve insisted on walking, or biking, even carrying inner tubes, and life vests, and water, and food, and shoes, and towels, and pulling dogs on leashes. Now,…
Category: creative nonfiction
La Ruta Maya
The day is hot and dusty when the bus from Cancun drops us. We get off at the wrong stop and bicker about the mile or so walk we have to get to Tulum. In the midday heat our backpacks feel stone heavy and we quickly languish. I am the first to stick out my…
Plain Jane
Someone once told me angels sang in heaven. The tall man with the black book clasped to his chest greeted us every Sunday. He talked of judgment and error and sin. He talked of angels. I sang in the choir but no one told me I was an angel. They informed me that I was…
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