We should have recognized the omens the night we cruised into Santa Fe. When snowdrifts obscured the friendly signs and covered the windows of strangers that would normally welcome visitors like us; when blizzard-like conditions caused every automobile to creep along the interstate in fear that an overcorrection of the wheel might fatefully crush metal and bones upon impact with red rock encased in ice; when we finally arrived at our hotel room, exhausted after twelve hours on the road, and it appeared as though a drug dealer or wild animal had inhabited the place for months -- crooked picture frames and dank, mustard-colored sheets left behind as ruffled remnants of his nightly terrors, induced by bad trips, bad dreams, or bad luck.
The pungent, stinging stench of tea tree oil diffuses rapidly in the stale air of the cramped apartment. I study the little bits of stray matter highlighted by the ray of sun beaming through the window, imagining them choking and coughing on scent. Is it possible to die from a smell? It's supposed to kill lice with its antibacterial properties; does that go for all insects? I'm going to have to Google that. The steady hiss of the shower abruptly shuts off. I hear whistling and the vinyl snap of the shower curtain being flung open, and then the slap of wet feet hitting the linoleum floor. He must have shoved the bathmat against the door again.
Alice Hoffman's novel "The Dovekeepers" is a terrific, inspiring novel. It is also very complex, which makes it a bit harder to read compared to the common teen novel.
Sarah Mckinstry-Brown is a poet, mother and wife. She is one woman balancing a monsoon of tasks. Mckinstry-Brown explained that life's gifts and blessings can become cumbersome, such is the nature of life. This is the inspiration behind her new full-length collection of poetry, "Cradling Monsoons."
I will never be a 900-year-old Time Lord
Oh, the nature of a futile dream.
Nor will David Tennant or Matt Smith - sorry, I mean "The Doctor"
Ever love me like he loved Rose or Sara Jane.
I wanted to tell the truth; I did it. I am walking to the police station, neither fast nor slow. I look up to the sky and tell myself, "That's right. The innocent will get out of jail."
This might be the third thing that goes right in my life. Of course, one of these things is that I met him. Before I tell this story, I have to draw a picture that reveals a secret.
April 4. I still remember this date. Everything outside was turning green to welcome the nice weather. After finishing the prolonged winter, the world now was full of vigor.
Children overlooked lead overlooked lives.
Their toil to be seen through our eyes.
Why do some forget that time is short.
Each day brings us near the end.