by Emily Brochu By October, the crows returned. They always did. They came with the cold wind—black flocks swirling above the cul-de-sac like storm clouds too dark for the sky to bear. The air grew heavy when they came, thick with the scent of wet earth and smoke. They clung…
Writing has always been part of my life. As a child, my journey began with writing short stories about family summer vacations. As a teenager, I kept a journal for many years, writing about friendships. Today, I am grateful it is a daily part of my life teaching English and…
by Richard Adams Carey I remember my mother being an atheist about the aging process. “I don’t feel any different,” she would protest as the decades marched on. She didn’t deny the aches and pains, which she did feel, and which were different. It was more a mental thing, a…