Here in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. On school Career Day, she sat at the back of the third-grade classroom. Her bright face was framed by two glittery barrettes. Quiet settled around us like a fog, filling up one second, then another. She sat up straight in her desk and almost shouted, My cat died! She looked toward a corner of the room and then back into my eyes. No longer shouting, she said, My grandmother died, too.

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Apple pie, anyone? May 6, 2015. January of 2015 stole my words and broke my heart. No more, no less. I am not free yet. But the plane continued south over the equator and I wrestled with God above the clouds. I saw the woman in front of me lean over to her neighbor. This looks like home, she said, This reminds me of Texas. The truck rounded another corn.

Originally posted on Twirling Girl.

By Two Tiny Blue Lines. My blog has moved on to bigger and better things! Ok, not really, I just moved it so I could have my own . Follow me over to tinybluelines. By Two Tiny Blue Lines. I have hope that I can chan.

Zen and the heart of housekeeping. Reports from the home front. There was a time when I rode a Greyhound bus from the Port Authority in New York City straight through to Medora, North Dakota. I cannot remember if I carried a cell phone way back then, but I do know that my sister was carrying my nephew back on Long Island and the journey lasted about three days and as many nights. When you sit on a Greyhound bus for days and nights on end, there is a blurry quality, you hope, to the experi.

Assorted thoughts, as transcribed from a pile of post-its. Love must be as much a light as it is a flame. There were so many ways to burn. On the back cover of my notebooks during English class, created an email address that began with sunshinefire.

All the Ways We Burn. There were so many ways to burn. You could be a campfire, blazing hot, beaming bright. A city on a hill, glowing in the darkness. A forest fire, consuming everything along the path until it finally gives way to ashes.