The first time I saw her, I was sitting on Cotter’s lap—he had been my best friend for probably six years at that point—at a meeting I crashed after coming home early from France.
If language has a glue, it’s social interaction.
Your urgent missile of alarm last night was most unprofessional.
Whoever said money can’t buy happiness clearly never bought a cozy cerulean sweater.
Will the sting of the adhesive ripping against our tender skin be an experience we can learn and grow from?
If terroir survives the conceptual transplant from grape-growing to bread-baking, then it’s no surprise that I’ve failed to replicate my grandma’s bread.
This time it felt different, like the distance the prayers travel to reach the Lord was shorter than usual.
Please assist humankind by divulging any variations of the masculine nod not encountered in this scientific journal.
How do you speak confusion to God?
God’s belly-deep groaning plead
from lake and trees’ lips;
I don’t fear, no, I tremble.