A spring, not so long ago, I discovered two Canada geese in the field by the blue pool. A spring when my father was still alive. The pool is a luminous ribbon of water that arches away from the river and cuts across a fallow field. I visit this part of the river often. Follow the…
Category: growing up
Over the Hills
She resolved not to cry. Not then. Not ever. No matter what he did. He could be mean as he wanted, smash everything into a million little pieces. “Mustangs are not orange,” her sister said, and wagged her finger at her. They were painting the horse models they’d gotten for Christmas. Her brothers had gotten…
Life Along The River 