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The Unfolding

The Unfolding

I place my notebook down on the table, then pick it up again, to lay it back down. I walk away and walk back, passing it by only to return. The words inside are scrambled, my mind spins a yolk–an embryo of thoughts all stuck together. Then it finally occurs to...

Little Van

A lot of miles were put on Volkswagons in our family—from Bugs to Carmen Ghias to Westfalia Vans—Dad loved them. My parents made many trips to Tucson in their white Westfalila to visit my sister and her family. Dad, the Eagle Scout, liked to camp, Mom liked hotels....

Morning Light

The storm passed through in the night and I didn’t even notice. I woke up this morning and the light in Dad’s room was on. He was sitting up reading his devotions as he used to do. He hasn’t been able to sit up on his own for a while....

Last Day of our Trip

It came up out of nowhere. The tall umbrellas, once far from the shoreline, were now nestled in water. The boat headed out had been beaten back, unable to mount it. Specks looking like ants were submerged then reappeared with screams and shouts of laughter. Eighty...

I Love You Because

I remember that his hand was still warm as I watched my father take it into his own, wrapping it—warmth against warmth. Sometimes that’s all we can do is hold on…   And I remember now, the bird with the yellow crown—like the yellow cap my brother wore—which sat in the...

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