Veteran bloggers, I don’t know how you do it. Seriously, what is your secret? Is there a special coffee, or a motivational book that keeps you writing with the regularity of Metamucil? I find myself returning from yet another long absence on this blog. I have not been inactive. Other projects have consumed my time (more updates on those later!), as well as many life developments: buying a house; new work contracts; travel. But there have been as many distractions and pits of deep despair that prevent me from writing, especially concerning the hateful direction my country, the USA, is taking.
I had always been taught that good prevails, that there is light even in darkness, and that comeuppance is a real tool of fate. Continue reading
Because a gulf of time surrounds me, I sit at a coffee house across from the trains to await departure. Each engine roars into the station with a wash of passengers, comings and goings. Fresh surf. The wave rumbles. Then they’re gone. And I wait, and wait, my nose in latte foam. Jealous for their oceans, impatient for my own.
The header image is adapted from a photo by Flickr user RedBull Trinker.
Logs crackle as Hasha watches the needle in her mother’s hand pierce and reemerge from the embroidered hem of her father’s coat. Threads weave their family’s history into the garment’s borders: the victory with the defeat, the joy with the loss.
“Here is the day your grandparents married,” says Mother, pointing to two silver doves. “And here is the night fire claimed their barn.”
“What happens when the border’s complete?” Hasha asks, wondering if her life will count towards the colorful threads in her family’s coats.
“Then we’ll begin again,” Mother smiles, and clips the threads between her teeth.
Trying something new this week with Six Sentence Stories. You can check out others’ takes on this week’s cue “BORDER,” here.