The cardboard box is marked “Southern Peaches” and made to hold ten ripening peaches. Now empty of its delicious fruit, it sits on the floor below a side table holding whichever of our five cats gets in it to sleep, …
Had Robert Frost lived where I do on Lake Norman, would he have written a poem about pine trees and not one about birches? Pine trees are not as limber as the birches that Frost writes about, so no young …
In early November of 2019, my oldest child told me he had found out in a Google search that his biological mother had died in 2015. An adopted son, he had met his biological mother when he was eighteen—they sat …
Memory does not remember much of this day, forty-five years ago when a recent college graduate made his way from North Carolina to Jacksonville, Florida. But we know that his trip involved a young girl he had met the previous …