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The cottage sat like a stubborn little stone in the late-afternoon light, half-buried in wildflowers and the smell of drying wood. It perched on a rise above the river, boards fitted tight and true in the careful style that was unmistakably Alexander’s. Liz called it their “refuge,” though lately, refuge meant a place where their nine‑month‑old daughter, Elana, turned everything within reach int…
I sink a little deeper into my favorite chair and let it hold me, as it has held me through so many nights like this. The leather is over-softened by years of use, the stuffing pushed into familiar shapes by my weight and my worries. Tonight, though, there is little worry left in me. There is only warmth. The hearth crackles with a lazy, contented fire. Shadows dance over the stone walls and ac…
I don’t have many words yet. Not the way my mother and father do, stacked and ordered into neat sentences. My words are mostly sounds—round things that roll out of my mouth and bump into the air like clumsy toys. But inside my head, where everything is soft and bright and still unnamed, I know what I feel. They call me Elana. I know that sound better than any other. It’s the coat I wear in…
I am again surprised and still feel humbled that you lovely people out there are reading my blogs and visiting my group. Over 2,000 now...thank you so very much, I do appreciate you all. Should you have a suggestion on what you would like to read, please feel free to let me know... with much Love to all of You...Liz
Alexander kept his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his work coat, as if hiding them from the room. His knuckles still bore faint dust from the excavation site, a chalky red that never let him forget where he’d pulled the pod samples from. He watched Elizabeth and Thaddeus moving around the long steel table, every tool and meter lined up in precise rows. The workshop smelled of hot metal a…
Alexander had never liked the forest on the north ridge. It was too quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed deliberate, like the world was holding its breath. The trees here were long and thin, bark a pale gray that flaked under the slightest touch, as if they were pretending to be trees and not quite managing it. The air smelled faintly of ozone and damp stone. No birds. No insects. Only the wind,…