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papaw’s garden // a poem
When I think of my grandfather, I think of his garden. Rows planted each spring in the soil by hand, grown by prayer, never fertilizer. No special equipment nor magic touch. Just faith, simple, trustworthy, true, which brought plentiful harvests, plucked from the ground of his hometown, canned and faithfully distributed to the community. Just faith…
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on Jo March and Women’s Souls
There was something in Little Women that not only captivated me early on but reminded me of myself. I used to listen to an audio recording of the novel while I took baths as a young girl. Those hours spent soaking, until the water was lukewarm and my fingers pruned, were profoundly formative. The world…
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the well // an advent poem
what you never hear about Eden was the water, the flowing streams that promised life yet Eve, that first woman, was never thirsty, nor bleeding. yet, among the water, grew a tree. one of many in that garden but long before that thick-skinned fruit was plucked from it, stolen from it, it grew among the…
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paris in july.
“Oh, but Paris isn’t for changing planes, it’s … it’s for changing your outlook, for… for throwing open the windows and letting in… letting in la vie en rose,” Sabrina says in the 1954 Audrey Hepburn film when her love interest remarks he’s only been to Paris while changing planes. The quote stuck with me…
McNeeley Ann 