Sometimes, Mawmaw’s way of speaking says it best. I hear her say things, and they feel right. They spill from out my mouth, like I’m pouring them from one of her huge canning jars. It ropes down the side of the glass and onto the countertop. Mawmaw’s eyebrows jump as she watches the whole thing…
Month: May 2026
Morning time
The warmth of my mug has become a game of hot potato between my hands. They’re cold till they’re burning. Till they’re cold… Somewhere in there, they’re just right. So it’s worth the effort as I look through the kitchen window and stare up at the light. It’s trickling in between the leaves of the…