My husband and I are in bed one night when we hear it: a sound like talking, very much like it, in fact, a sound like talking that begins in our older son's room and travels the hallway to ours....
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My six-year-old son eats mud. He eats sand, clay, and paper. I have seen him put dead, muddy leaves in his mouth, place bubbles from the bath on his tongue. He has chewed on twigs and rubber bones meant for...
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It is a summer of broken things. Lightning hits our house and zaps two phones, an answering machine, and a computer hard drive. Thieves throw a brick through the truck window and steal my briefcase. My father falls on a...
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Their father floats his six-foot telescope between binary stars -- talismans of the Whirlpool Galaxy. Twenty-four years, the whole of our marriage, longer than our daughters' eighteen years, he has searched the darkest skies, searched for that smudge of spiral...
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Night time. Small room, almost pitch black. A little light streaming in from a bathroom door, ajar. The square edges of a mirror, silver framed, a portion of the bathroom sink. I am hobbling in the dark towards the bathroom...
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In my father's house, fly-fishing was often discussed but seldom practiced, just as my father preached from the pulpit each Sunday about humility, kindness, and occasionally love but rarely put them to good use either. It wasn't until years later,...
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