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Strangers

A tall man with a mustache swings the store door open. His black cap perches jauntily on his head—backwards—and he walks with a swagger. His unzipped…

Poetry

The Frost-Bitten Sun

The frost-bitten sun sinks. Puckered rosehips, brilliant drops of blood, Sprinkle among the scraggly underbrush, While silvery drifts slouch deep in their beds. The twisted poplar…

Poetry

The Crazy Dream

Once upon a time, there were two sisters who liked to dream. One day, when they were quite grown-up, one of them said, “Let’s go to…

Poetry

Ripples on the River

It was a year ago that I settled down on my top bunk at SMBI for a quick nap before our banquet supper. This was our…

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Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

Philippians 4:8