Searching for Mahalo
Published by GFT Press, Spring 2017, print
The water is warm. I swim out past the breakers and let the swells take me in their rise and fall. And every time they pick me up and put me down, I laugh just for the joy of it. I laugh because all is well and beauty wins and love is everything. And I am very in the present.
But why is getting to that place—that moment of just joyfully being—so hard? Over and over I have asked myself this: Is restlessness a form of seeking, or is it the inability to be content?
Published by Rock and Sling, Spring 2017, print
A lock on the door means the power to think for oneself. —Virginia Woolf
“You’re going to vote for a Democrat?” my husband almost shouted. We were standing on the porch, having just come home from church. Dan’s hand had frozen in mid-reach for the screen door.
“I can’t believe it!” he said. “If you do that, we’ll just cancel each other out. Then what’s the point in either of us voting at all?”
The Nature of Fear
Published by GFT Press, Spring 2016, print
“Perhaps the wilderness we fear is the pause within our own heartbeats, the silent space that says we live only by grace.”
—Terry Tempest Williams
I was hiking alone one summer afternoon on a remote path high up on North Mountain in West Virginia when I suddenly heard a crash overhead. I stopped and looked up, thinking it was a group of turkey vultures or maybe even a bald eagle disturbed from his roost. But instead of birds flying away from me, something large and black was falling towards me. It landed with a thump on the trail right in front of me.
The Question of Pigs
Published in the Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, March 2013, online
Like most little girls, I loved Wilbur the Pig in the book, Charlotte’s Web and cried when I read of his victory over slaughter. But even then, at eight years old, my mind was asking questions. Are humans different from animals? If so, how? The power that fictitious pig had over me was a human one. Wilbur could speak. He had a mind and emotions just like mine. To me, Wilbur had become a person.
But was he? In reality, are pigs or goats or chickens or dogs people? Or is there a fundamental difference between humans and animals?
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Published in the Summerset Review, March 15 2012, online
I walk to the mailbox wishing I would find one last letter from my brother. Instead I pull out a small package. The handwriting on the outside is not one I recognize. But when I unwrap the box, its contents reveal a story that forces more questions than it offers answers. And I wonder how different the ending would have been if we had all made better choices.
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