I’ve found the elm tree. I’m embarrassed to admit that for the 12+ years that we’ve lived here, I’d assumed the trunk one step in front of the brush-line was another sweetgum. In my defense, the trunks do look similar: straight, tall, with rough, gray-brown bark. But I’d failed to take the time to actually […]
torch bearing quietly
I will not act out, will not yell or curse or slam doors, will not make a scene -- you do not deserve such a chance to make an example out of me to be proven right since you are not. Instead, I'll stand at this street corner, raise my hand high and clench that light which yet remains. It will burn brightly, quietly, fiercely before fading as I. Then I'll be gone but found.