As the light returns, we bring you nine wonderful pieces. Two of the pieces speak of the latest retreat in Puerto Vallarta. Our writers are: Merijane Block, Courtney Harrell, Max Perry, Iris Fluellen, Tom Harrell, Michael Holland, Cathryn Lewis, … Continue reading →

You are made of almost nothing You split into the heat To be ceaseless movement You fall with the other husks of summer So here you are, doing it again. So here it is, happening again. You have taken her, … Continue reading →

I laughed, “You’re exaggerating a bit, don’t you think?” He shrugged, “I think your memory is just bad.” Come on,” I pointed, “let’s go. We need to get our shelter made for the night.” Slowly and carefully we made our … Continue reading →

Puerto Vallarta kissed by the sun dressed in green and blue hills filled with towering palm, agave, deep-rooted hube de oro monstrous árboles, boughs, dripping tendrils searching for the wet earth

Sunday’s Super Bowl was the most watched program—and I use the term “program” loosely—the most watched program in the history of television. I saw this on the Huffington Post and immediately posted it to my Facebook page. Not many people … Continue reading →

Nicholas was the kind of boy everyone described as full of life. The kind of boy who wore out jeans and shoes and mitts but never his welcome. The kind of boy parents treasure. Nicholas may have suffered a schoolhouse … Continue reading →

i. I sit across from you sapphires meeting icy blues words spilling like a downpour on thirsty rain forests. The phrases are diminutive. See, it’s not what you say it’s what you don’t.

The long wooden table, the soft velvety voice lulling us to pick up our pens and travel to the untold images of our senses. Gold winged birds perched up top evergreen-looking trees, construction saws grinding, the ocean framing the horizon. … Continue reading →

“What matters now, Jesse, is that you fall asleep easily tonight and do not wake up when I put you down into your crib,” I think as I enter my apartment. Your nanny Peeka hands you over to me. She … Continue reading →

She lived life guided by a lacy mythology, dreamily wandering and occasionally skipping along as if her path was crocheted by Belgian nuns. She believed that even the holes and gaps were there by design. She could turn a troubling … Continue reading →