by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by Friar James Augustine It has become one of our most trusted routines—porch therapy. Either sipping on hot coffee waiting for the sun the rise, or having a few ‘cold ones’ in the evening as Mother Nature falls into a slumber, we enjoy it together. The hectic rat race of…