Steps

Packing up her life was not stepwise, no matter how determined she was to be systematic. Almost everything invited revery. True, some decisions were easier than others—bathrobe, yes. Sam’s picture, yes. But the grandchildren. The sensible choice would be the group...

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Prompts and the Moon

Sometimes, a prompt is a test. Can I disengage from the day’s busyness—the yoga session way too many hours ago; the website updated; the walk squeezed in, almost without noticing the brisk air, the colors shifting in the trees; the breakfast cooked, the manuscript...

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Summer Thrums

The green world isn’t giving me anything else tonight. The weaving is done, and off the loom, as finished as it will ever be, that green and blue study. The leftover warp, the test patterns for the next piece, colors limited by my decision to actually make something...

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Three

Three. Three was the perfect number. True, they were scattered all over the country. Two she went to. One came to her, but not often. No locals. Most of the time she was solitary, and that’s the way she liked it. The long days at the library, listening to one needy...

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Marley One Year Later

Another not quite lost, but almost found piece, one not written in workshop. When I made my first working foray into our garden after Marley's passing, I found a mess, and a prompt. I have to confess that this picture is only an approximation--I was too appalled to...

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Thank-you Grey’s Anatomy

Ah, the magic of writing in workshop. Already I've forgotten what specific prompt I gave--a bunch of fuzzy pictures pulled off the internet, I think. One of them inspired this piece, published here with Margot's permission. Thank you, Margot! Thank-you Grey’s Anatomy...

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