Five Minute Friday: haven

©2016 by Janet Crouch Photography Today it's just this striped chair facing a wall of windows looking out on a green space where pines and cedars are blowing a wind that might bring rain. It's this room of books and undertones and people thinking, and I'm thinking of the low hum in Uncle Andrew's study --…

Five Minute Friday: dwell

I’m wearing another new ring and a new name, and living in a new home in a new town as a newly-wed, and yet it all feels strangely normal, so that the weirdness we’ve most often remarked on, these last two weeks, is how un-weird it is. Beside our front door, a cross-stitch from a…

temporary: small and glad, day 20

I don't like temporary, but I live in temporary. I shelve books that I know will have to be unshelved again, one day; tacking things to walls with timid hammer-strokes, knowing that I'll have to pull the nails out again. In C. S. Lewis' Perelandra, his Adam- and Eve-like characters are given only one command: they…

Noticing, Day 5: born(e) there

The day is edged in gold, and I'm noticing that it's hard to photograph the gold edging from a moving car, and it's hard to convince myself that stopping is worthwhile when I'm within an hour of being home. I'm noticing a six-week-old baby's tiny mouth and tinier finger nails, her way of wriggling on…

Five Minute Friday: Red

We're hanging on the tail end of summer; some leaves begin to turn, and the mornings and evenings are cool. But middays are as hot as ever, and sweat slides down my back when I cross campus with my book bag. I stood in line with some of my students for lunch today, a former…

homeward

I'm a stranger here. My accent, which makes people down home sometimes ask me if I'm from "somewhere up north," here slips out strangely soft and gentle. I didn't even think about it, but when I addressed the people behind me in line as "y'all," I branded myself a stranger. Some people are born in…

could be brave*

Bravery is only as brave as the strength of the fear it must overcome. -Luci Shaw, The Crime of Living Cautiously For a church picnic hosted at our house recently, my dad and brothers hung a big rope swing from a high tree branch on the back of our property. After nearly eight years swingless,…

homeward

The cotton harvest is begun, heralded by six tarp-covered bales waiting in the dusk outside the gin. I am neither farmer's daughter nor farmer's wife, but I've been driving by the fields for upwards of seven years, hearing the talk of the farmers and their families, watching the different machines roll out to do their…

home

Kate Shrewsday writes of the home-longing we all seem to have, sharing how even snails, which we've always said carry their houses on their backs, go home to a physical location. Meanwhile, Kelly Foster declares, "These people I love, all of them, scattered so far and wide, they are my native land." I've been traveling, and I…