Mother Loaf

Danger traffic sign

Well, at least he’s happy.

I wasn’t expecting a visit from my teenaged, road-working son, but here he is, leaning into a half-eaten, torn-into loaf of walnut-wheat bread, butter disappearing quickly. His bent arms are long enough to eclipse the entire side of my kitchen table, effectively blocking me out. Yes, of course I fed my kid. You always feed your kid. They never completely grow up, not in your eyes.  Continue reading

January 23-25: Surviving, Unbelievable, and Journal

Just Jot It January

January 25: Journal

Gratitude

J-ust flipping through the journal stacks

O-prah, Ladies’ Home, and Country Shacks

U-p and comers follow their lead

R-ead with interest to determine their need

N-ow I, unfunded, can afford to say “no”

A-nd walk away from the circus show

L-imited funds have their happy use

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2022)

January 24: Unbelievable

What’s in a Name?

“But I swear to you, it’s all true!”

“Yeah, I think you spend too much time on your own, Megan,” Flora laughed. She frowned at Megan, at the hair that hadn’t seen a stylist for an entire summer, the crow’s feet limned in white from squinting into the sun, and the strong, tanned legs with skin just a bit too dry. At least she was still shaving her legs, but the cuts-offs were torn and baggy, and there was a stain on the oversized t-shirt.

Flora continued, “So where is this little forest man you’ve been telling me about?”  Continue reading

Who’s Being Tamed?

Just Jot It January

(Looking & Mission, Jan 20-21)

Hunched just behind the shrub-encircled tree, he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s grown to love the sunny-morning scent that precedes the screech and bang of the screen door, the soft pad of bare feet on cold, painted cement, followed by the softer hush of those feet crossing the grass. The wooden chair groans as she lowers herself onto its cool slant and tucks her legs out of the dew. Continue reading

Gimme Shelter

Aspen forest at daybreak

“Too much noise going on out there, and nothing more I can do about it, than what I’m already doing.” She clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the scarred, stained coffee table. “I wish I had a remote to use on myself and my busy thoughts!” Continue reading