The Politics of Walking

  I’m not fond of the word, revolution. Bigger men than I have carried guns throughout history and made a loud clamor. But nothing lasts forever, not even the fire sustained by their children. More to the point, how useless I would be in war; this mind is enough to fight alone. And besides, I…

A Daffodil Winter

Cracks are forming in the course mulch where sprigs of something are trying desperately to come up. The bulbs of spring are curious or maybe too eager to resist. It is a warm winter, after all. And the amount of rain is comparable to what used to be April’s responsibility—now May.  The now wet and…

A Poppy in October

Is it death we fear, or the leaving before knowing love? Are there that many fields of students that go missing high up in the mountains, while following along some trail, waging war on themselves just to learn an answer: that loves’ greatest peak is where we allow ourselves to let go of the ones…

Why the Mountains?

    Why the longing for mountains? Is it the wanting to be cradled like a child, like the spiritual–and miraculous–creation we are? Is it to both love something as inanimate yet alive as nature, and to realize all of life has the ability to love us back?  Is it because we know, deep in…

To Burn a Bridge

      It was 2016 and a terribly dark period at that. I found a way out from a time that was hurting, but in doing so I escaped rather than resolved matters.  I understand why in times of war cities destroy the very bridges.  It prevents the enemy from coming in, but in…

September for the Sycamores

    This morning the sycamores are peeling back their bark and revealing a dull white skin.  Above, their iron arms are stretched out with thousands of pallid green and scorched-tip leaves holding on. The foliage is still thick, and I can only see glimpses of the sun from the ground. Little by little, however,…

“I Don’t Know, Elias. I Don’t Know.”

Nope, I have no tattoos. I know! I’m surprised, too. There are a few ideas that I entertain from time to time, but I’ve just never, you know, done it. My sister and I talk about getting matching tattoos, something celebrating our family. She wants one that celebrates our dad—knowing all too well that our…

Tips for Drying Goldenrod

    Tips for Drying Goldenrod By Karen Guenther-Attea 1. Wake up, Pray 2. Clip your flowers midday after the dew has dried off. On a windy day, I suppose it doesn’t matter. 3. The boughs don’t need to be too tight, oh but that is too tight. Well, maybe it will be okay. 4….

The Work of a Rose

      The work seems invisible now. But just yesterday, Mom called me on the phone.  The news was bad: grandpa was in the hospital again.  He’s strong, but it’s unlikely this time.  For a year I watched over my grandpa’s farm. But Mom’s been showing up this whole time as one of the…

At Home in Snow

      We met north of the city. Outside, the church doors were locked and no wonder, it was a Monday. We both missed morning mass. It was the holidays, December, and this time of year seems to both rekindle and revoke my nostalgia for home. Dad rolled down his window to greet me…