I remember the day Dean and I found this gem. A ninety-two-year-old farmhouse out of a fairytale novel, me round with Sarah soon to make us three. We signed, moved in, and soon enough these old
I ponder, ponder, one step short of full-on obsession. Mulling over the world I grew up in and how suddenly and without fanfare, it ceased to exist. So unexpected and lightning-quick its flame burnt
Nine years ago I was trying to prepare myself and our kiddos, to get through the first Christmas without Christopher. It had only been 53 days since he passed away. How was I going to do this?
I’ll be your California,You’ll be my CarolinaThe sun will rise and set with usThe moon will string a banded chorusof poetic writers across the globeSharing words and spreading
“Do you still think of her?” Alyson’s words were soft, their tender touch relaxing to Robert. He continued to fidget, his fingers juggling the same emptiness that had filled his thoughts.