Goldie awoke. Daylight streamed through the thin fabric of the kitchen curtains. She’d been up late the night before, tending to her mother, who was never sick enough to seek aid from the healer, but never well enough to rise from her own bed in their own one-bed cottage. Continue reading
She shivered in her layers of jackets, hunched over on the park bench. So cold that even the birds dared not sing for fear of cracking their beaks. A bedraggled squirrel flicked his careworn tail, hopping from frozen bundles of dirty gray leaves, to clods of dirt, to pieces of trash embedded in ice. Try as he might to make little to no contact with the ground, even his toes got cold, and he limped over to a concretized tree and jerked his way up and around the trunk and disappeared. Continue reading
Indiana Summer, in cheap housing with no a.c., a mixed neighborhood of blue collar, elderly, and our houseful of assorted grad students, temporary sublets like me. Continue reading
Her 1997 Honda rocked and groaned through the narrow city streets.
She knew the moment her car crossed from affluent to impoverished neighborhood. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
A.I. Art and Poetry
Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
Chel Owens
Live music in St Paul Minnesota
pagan songs & tales
Poets Pub
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my views.. my way
Challenging the barriers of the way we define reality
Stories and thoughts about being a queer girl geek in the 21st Century.
Valley of the Trolls 