The kind of frequent flier I want to be

The kind of frequent flier I want to be

On the wings of the evening I fly home. Sonic, grits, sweet potato fries and fellowship sitting full in my belly. I enter the in between. Airports transport us out of time. We wait, suspended, for hellos. We travel from one good-bye to another greeting with all our...

If I could, I would live in

the country and not the city. a house and not an apartment. a well weathered farm house and not a new build. upstairs not downstairs. on hard wood floors, not carpet or tiles. next to a corn field, not a lake. inland and not by the ocean (I think). OK, your...
If you’re feeling lost

If you’re feeling lost

I feel it in my hand. Gossamer fine, delicate thread. I hold it loosely to be sure I don’t snap it. I’m following it. Spiderweb-delicate strand, it leads me; it pulls me forward. Hand-over-hand I follow. Sometimes, in deep dark black nights I can’t...

A Southern Cross homesickness

I’m raising two boys two and a half years and nearly 8,000 miles away from the country that runs in their veins. The blood red dust of the Karoo, the ostrich, the meerkat, the hadida. Thick accents and thicker maize meal cooked in three legged black pots over...