Where I live, it's been rainy and cold; the trees are bare, the skies are gray, and the chill of winter is just about settling in. The geese have flown away, and the fallen leaves are scuttering about the drenched sidewalks. And I've been thinking lately, about a lot of things — about the world and about my life, about stories and dreams, about grief and faith, about the past and the present and the future. I've been feeling bittersweet; I've been feeling nostalgic. Recently,

Grasping Summer Summer brings the memory Of late night whisperings Over stories in the dark. Glowing fireflies, And stars in the still...

To all the great dads out there — you light up our world. The Little Men There are little men, up in the sky, But they're unseen. I'll...

I wrote this poem two years ago in my bedroom, when I heard a train whistle in the distance. There's a railroad in my town, but I didn't...

“Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. 'Someone is dying,' thought the little girl, for her old...

Today, I am thrilled to share something very special with you. Earlier this week, my first historical fiction story was published on The...

I wrote this poem during a time in my life when I felt very miserable and alone. I felt like a stranger in a strange place, unloved,...

Photo Credit to Joseph Barrientos on Unsplash Today, I wanted to share something special with you. Although a while has passed since I...