Featured Writing

Sun shining over a mountain range.

My Mother’s Words

By Phibby Venable All my mother’s words live around here,and I am always placing them in whatever orderI can remember.They hold the door open each morning, and suggestI have a better gratitude and attitude,for being aliveI stretch my eyes all over the sky, I lean upand look over the mountainsMy…

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Posts Tagged music

Driving along the highway at sunset.

Blinded

by Khristy Knudtson Flying on frontage roads,sipping iced coffee,and carbonated water,thrift-store findsstuffed in the hatchback. Two 30-somethingsignored their latestexistential crisesfor a sunset, a summer high,singing Third Eye Blind and The Cardigans.

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Go Round

by Amy Covel There I was, going around in circles. My companions run beside me to the tune that has become our source of life. Without it, we are still. Without it, there are no smiling faces. The conductor has brought us to life. We bear upon our backs the…

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Her Dumb Friends

by Cecile Pecoraro My journey to the office each day begins with a drive around Jackson Park. After one block I must veer right to continue up the street, Park Avenue, that holds the 2.27 acre, two-block long park in its grasp. Despite its size, the park is home to…

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November Journal: Wednesday, November 27, 2013

by Don Mager While cold’s persistence officiates, afternoon’s amnesia sweeps away the dinge of clouds.  Sundown plays suites of madrigals on pianissimo recorders.  Counterpoints weave off-beats at low registers.  Modulations melt.  Descant sherbets—treble creams—drops of lemon tenors—contra basses in their azure barkings—and dancing at the upper edges, small piquant sopranino…

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The Page-Turner

by Susan Knox The violinist, dressed in a scarlet satin gown, her ebony hair smoothed into a chignon, strides onto the stage. Close behind are the cellist and pianist in their graphite-gray suits and crimson ties. A fourth person enters, staying in stage shadows and carrying music for Brahms’ “Piano…

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My Life as an Aspie

By Lois Hard Standing on the curb, I watch the procession as the world marches by with their flutes and suits made of crackling armor, drums beating to a tune that I can’t see, muted clowns riding indiscernible cars, floats waving their streamers for all to taste except for me…

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Cars and Trucks and First Kisses

By Paul LeBlanc I love cars. I read the auto columns of the Globe and Times on the weekend and whenever passing through airports I grab the latest issues of Car and Driver and Road and Track and whatever else looks good. I can easily let hours slip by in…

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