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I didn't always get up early to see him off to work, but that morning I did. I remember sitting on the kitchen chair looking out the trailer window. I had moved in with Dad that September to attend the local College. There had been a big dump of snow the day before, it was November 18th. Even though it was still dark outside it looked like a blanket of white. We chatted briefly while he got his things together. Hugged me and we said, "I love you" and then he was out the door. I watched him climb into his old green Ford pick-up and I waved until I couldn't see him anymore. I didn’t realize it would be the last time I would ever see him. . . .
. . . .I vaguely recall that I was once bold and outward looking but that was in my youth when, despite difficult economic circumstances, and a lowly paid job I somehow exuded confidence though I know not from where this misplaced positivity came from, perhaps it was one of the few beneficial things I inherited from my father? Now it's the year of their, not my, Lord 1844 for I hold no truck with any God nor any so-called religion. Life has proven to my entire satisfaction and beyond any reasonable shadow of doubt, despite an upbringing in a God-fearing family, that no such omnipotent being or thing exists. . . .
My grandmother raised me in Pokhara, Nepal. She was not famous. She never held a title, never had her name printed anywhere, never gave a speech that anyone recorded. But she was, without question, the most important person in my early life, and I want to set down here what I remember of her, plainly and honestly, before more time passes and the details soften into something less exact. . . .
More...
In the summer of 1982 after O'ringens 5-day orienteering competition in Lulea, Sweden, I heard Lars-erik Unestahl's lecture on mental training. During the few years afterwards I helped Lars-Erik a little, mostly by editing some of his books such as The Mental Aspects of Gymnastics (1983), Orebro, Veje Publ.
During that year or two, I tested (non-scientifically) some of Lars-Erik's ideas on myself. . . .
|
A Special Memory
Steven Hunley
(c) Copyright 2026 by Steven Hunley
|
Photo by Antoni Shkraba at Pexels. |
You
take an assignment for moderate to severe special Ed. You're
hesitant and have some sort of unexplainable fear of the kids. You
have reservations. You imagine what might happen if one of the
students goes off like nitroglycerine and explodes, then what do you
do? I’ve always been afraid of breaking things, declared awkward as
a child. This may be my worst assignment ever. What if nothing
happens at all? Then what do you do? The regular teachers aren't
there, so visiting teachers rely on aids and technicians, who know
these kids inside out. , , ,
|
ctober
Fights Ronnie Dee
(c)
Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee |
|
Bud
and I did some silly things now and then and I can't tell you why.
Like the night we laid down in the middle of 34th Street. It was a
busy street and, I don't know, maybe we had a dare to see who would
get up first or something, but we did it. . . .
Westward By WaterNiklas Pettersson  (c) Copyright 2026 by Niklas Pettersson |
 Photo by Jess Chen at of Wikimedia Commons. |
This
account follows a public
ferry journey from my
home village in the Stockholm archipelago toward the capital and
back.
I live close enough to Stavsnas vinterhamn that the beginning of an archipelago journey can feel almost too ordinary. On the morning of this trip, delivery vans were already moving near the quay, passengers stood beside wheeled bags, and the digital board listed boats and islands that many people around me clearly knew by heart. Yet I had chosen to travel in the less familiar direction. Instead of going outward toward Sandhamn and the open Baltic, I would work my way west through the inner archipelago and continue toward Stockholm Strom. . . .
I live close enough to Stavsnas vinterhamn that the beginning of an archipelago journey can feel almost too ordinary. On the morning of this trip, delivery vans were already moving near the quay, passengers stood beside wheeled bags, and the digital board listed boats and islands that many people around me clearly knew by heart. Yet I had chosen to travel in the less familiar direction. Instead of going outward toward Sandhamn and the open Baltic, I would work my way west through the inner archipelago and continue toward Stockholm Strom. . . .
|
Night Ronnie Dee
(c)
Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee |
|
| Archeological
Dig Sara Etgen-Baker  (c) Copyright 2026 by Sara Etgen-Baker |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
"Did
you know pennies used to be bigger?" Dad's voice was warm, his
fingers tapping the edge of the kitchen table where an old jelly jar
sat between us. The jar was slightly cracked and stuffed full of
copper pennies, some so old they had turned green at the edges.
|
Eric The Hun
Steven Hunley 
(c) Copyright
2026 by Steven Hunley |
|
My dad owned a Shell
station on University Avenue in San Diego and on his crew, there were
three young men in their twenties, two old men in their fifties, Dad,
and me.
Len, our mechanic, was a good friend of Dad's and Eric Muller was a close second in things mechanical. It seemed to me that within Eric, logic, method, and execution were precisely balanced in one package and the package was labeled Made in Germany. . . .
| What
Goes Around Comes Around Bheka Pierce (c) Copyright 2025 by Bheka Pierce |
 "I lost her twenty-four years ago, but she remains in my heart every second of every day now left to me." Photo courtesy of the author. |
In
southern Africa, serving in the Peace Corps in Swaziland in the early
1970s, I found the love of my life, a Danish lass, whose outer and
inner beauty were joined into one. We married, taught together in a
bush school built by her father, took a walking tour up Africa, made
it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, and eventually settled in
Denmark, where we raised two children, and worked together at the
Copenhagen International School for twenty years before ALS took her
from us. . . .
Clouds Don't SaluteHridoy Kundu © Copyright 2026 by Hridoy Kundu |
 Photo by Muhammed zeya at Pexzels |
|
My Saturday Morning From Hell
Valerie Byron (c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Byron |
|
|
Grandmother's Truths
Dina Bern
(c) Copyright 2026 by Dina Bern |
|
Candelaria
opened the door to leave the small apartment where her grandmother
lived. Before closing it behind her, she turned back to look at the
tiny woman sitting on the narrow bed, which was covered in indigenous
corte textiles of endless patterns and colors. The petite woman
smiled. Across her deeply wrinkled, brown face--resembling the bark
of an ancient tree--appeared a line of teeth that looked more like
the kernels of a tiny ear of yellow corn. . . .
|
Hey, 10%
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Stills from the American baseball film Heading Home (1920) with Babe Ruth, on page 42 of the August 28, 1920 Exhibitors Herald. |
Yes,
I am talking to you, my fellow lefthanders. Today, August 13th,
is lefthander day, a time to recognize those like me, who stress
daily to live our lives in a world, which in many ways, is strange to
us. I should have sent this earlier so you would have received it on
the 13th, but we left-handers are sometimes
scatter-brained. Mark your calendar for next year. . . .
|
A Place In The Circle
|
|
We
had just finished reading Tales
of a Fourth Grade Nothing when
Mr. Kressler asked us to put our books away and take out our writing
notebooks.
SerendipityMary Cornelia Brown Murphy (c) Copyright 2026 by Mary Cornelia Brown Murphy |
 Carolann Madden and Norman Kennedy in Vermont. Photo by the author. |
In
1963 my late husband was mentored by Ralph Rinzler to come from
England to help collect music and musicians in the Appalachian
Mountains in order to expose them to wider, statewide audiences. This
having been a success, stirred Ralph into introducing yet more 'folk'
talent. He gathered a Gaelic singer, Norman Kennedy, into the fold.
Norman had lived and worked in Aberdeen, Scotland as a weaver, singer
and tax collector. His talents were many and some time later, he
became the master weaver at Historic Colonial Williamsburg, as well
as touring and singing. He eventually set up a school in Vermont
teaching spinning, dyeing and weaving. . . .
My Dad, CharlieLauralee Davis (c) Copyright 2026 by Lauralee Davis |
 Charlie and Lauralee, photo courtesy of the author. |
I didn't always get up early to see him off to work, but that morning I did. I remember sitting on the kitchen chair looking out the trailer window. I had moved in with Dad that September to attend the local College. There had been a big dump of snow the day before, it was November 18th. Even though it was still dark outside it looked like a blanket of white. We chatted briefly while he got his things together. Hugged me and we said, "I love you" and then he was out the door. I watched him climb into his old green Ford pick-up and I waved until I couldn't see him anymore. I didn’t realize it would be the last time I would ever see him. . . .
The Geometry Of Unspoken ThingsAngela Luo (c) Copyright 2026 by Angela Luo |
 Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. |
The
kitchen junk drawer holds the things a house doesn't know what to do
with: dead batteries, a tape measure, rubber bands gone brittle with
age, a church key for bottles nobody drinks anymore. Second from the
back, under a coil of twine, there is something that has no business
being there at all: a red envelope with gold characters stamped
across the front, worn soft at the corners from being handled once
and then never really acknowledged again. . . .
|
Driving
Around Ronnie Dee
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
|
I
used to drive fast, or at least as fast as I could in the cars I
owned, all of the time. I once had my license revoked for six months
and had to take a driving test all over again, which was a real pain
in the ass, but I didn't learn easily, so I was also arrested for
going 70 mph down Chestnut Street by a sneaky motorcycle cop. At this
time I was driving a black, fastback 1950 Chevy with white sidewalls
and red rims; a neat looking car. It only had a six cylinder engine,
but it was kept in tip-top running shape by a friend of mine who
worked as a full-time mechanic and ran a garage at home in his spare
time. It was not so good as a drag racer, but ran pretty good on the
street. . . .
| Mrs.
Sophia Denyen (Lately A Prisoner In London England) Lional Mendoza (c) Copyright 2026 by Lional Mendoza |
 The_famous_battle_between_Richard_Humphreys_and_Daniel_Mendoza...by_Samuel_William_Fores. |
. . . .I vaguely recall that I was once bold and outward looking but that was in my youth when, despite difficult economic circumstances, and a lowly paid job I somehow exuded confidence though I know not from where this misplaced positivity came from, perhaps it was one of the few beneficial things I inherited from my father? Now it's the year of their, not my, Lord 1844 for I hold no truck with any God nor any so-called religion. Life has proven to my entire satisfaction and beyond any reasonable shadow of doubt, despite an upbringing in a God-fearing family, that no such omnipotent being or thing exists. . . .
Beautiful KonglorDerek Stokes (c) Copyright 2026 by Derek Stokes |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
What
can I possibly write about Konglor that hasn’t been written already
(by me) about this glorious little village, this tiny peaceful haven
of natural beauty. Well, probably an enormous amount as it turns out.
A lot more than most people, because very few actually spend more
than about eighteen hours here. They do so both as an overnight on
the Thakhek loop, and to explore the famous cave. Arrive in the
evening, get up early to see the cave and gone before midday, without
taking any time to enjoy it completely, is the typical itinerary for
the vast majority of visitors. . . .
| allow
the Creeping Saboteur Mona Bapat (c) Copyright 2026 by Mona Bapat |
 Photo by RDNE Stock project at Pexels. |
What The File SaysObongodu Paul Unanam © Copyright 2026 by Obongodu Paul Unanaml |
 Photo by Ron Lach at Pexels. |
The
file says my father is a farmer.
He has never farmed anything in his life. He grew up in Port Harcourt watching his own father repair outboard motors at the jetty, grease under the fingernails, the smell of fuel and river water mixing in a way he still describes if you catch him in the right mood. When he was old enough he moved to Uyo and got a job counting money at a filling station. The station closed six months later. After that he did other things, moved between work the way most people in his position did, taking what was available, doing what was needed. None of it involved soil. . . .
He has never farmed anything in his life. He grew up in Port Harcourt watching his own father repair outboard motors at the jetty, grease under the fingernails, the smell of fuel and river water mixing in a way he still describes if you catch him in the right mood. When he was old enough he moved to Uyo and got a job counting money at a filling station. The station closed six months later. After that he did other things, moved between work the way most people in his position did, taking what was available, doing what was needed. None of it involved soil. . . .
|
A
Truly Terrible Idea! John Lisbeth
(c) Copyright 2026 by John Lisbeth
|
|
Ellsworth
Air Force Base, South Dakota, early 1980s. I was Flight Commander in
charge of Oscar Launch Control Center north-east of Sturgis in the
Minuteman ICBM system. Mike, my former Deputy Combat Crew Commander,
was now Officer in Charge at the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD)
facility. "Mike" wasn’t his real first name, but he was tall
and blond and looked a bit like Lloyd Bridges who played Mike Nelson
on the old "Sea Hunt" TV show. Every now and then, Mike would
give me a call when something interesting had arrived at the EOD
facility that needed blowing up. . . .
|
Weird
Happenings Ronnie Dee
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
|
I
have been thinking lately about some of the creepy and strange
incidents I have been a part of and I wonder how many weird
coincidences other people have experienced. I mean like, you are
sitting in a chair reading and you get up. Five seconds later, a 100
pound clock falls off the wall onto the chair. . . .
The Woman Who Taught Me How To CareBimal Devkota © Copyright 2025 by Bimal Devkota |
 Photo by Israel Torres at Pexels. |
My grandmother raised me in Pokhara, Nepal. She was not famous. She never held a title, never had her name printed anywhere, never gave a speech that anyone recorded. But she was, without question, the most important person in my early life, and I want to set down here what I remember of her, plainly and honestly, before more time passes and the details soften into something less exact. . . .
|
If Only I Had Known Them
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Part of obituary in the Brownsville, Ky, newspaper. |
When The Wild Came To The FenceEmerole Clinton  (c) Copyright 2026 by Emerole Clinton |
 Photo by Marian Florinel Condruz at Pexels. |
. . . .The
monitor lizard arrived on a Thursday morning during the rainy season,
which I remember specifically because the gutters were still running
from the previous night and I had come outside to check the drainage
channel before breakfast.
It was on top of the fence. . . .
It was on top of the fence. . . .
| FIFA
Soccerfootball 2026 Ezra Azra  (c) Copyright 2026 by Ezra Azra |
 Photo by Workman House at Pexels. |
. . . .On
Sundays, the weather permitting, soccerfootball was played on every
wild field in Clairwood, by boys and men.
I was a boy in Clairwood. We played barefoot, with tennis balls. The men wore shoes, and played with footballs.
Most Sundays we boys did not play because we had no tennis ball. On those Sundays, we children, boys and girls, attended the adult games, running about fetching the football when it was kicked off-field; there were no lines officers in our ghetto soccerfootball games. . . .
I was a boy in Clairwood. We played barefoot, with tennis balls. The men wore shoes, and played with footballs.
Most Sundays we boys did not play because we had no tennis ball. On those Sundays, we children, boys and girls, attended the adult games, running about fetching the football when it was kicked off-field; there were no lines officers in our ghetto soccerfootball games. . . .
| Traveling
Through USSR During The Cold War 1979 Scot Walker © Copyright 2026 by Scot Walker |
 July 7 Leningrad, summer palace of the tsars. Photo courtesy of the author. |
A Bicycle Shop, a Fruit Cart, and Four GraduatesKanak Kashap (c) Copyright 2026 by Kanak Kashyap |
 Photo by Nishant Das at Pexels. |
The
events in this story are based on the lives of my grandparents, Ashok
Kumar and his wife. Some details come from family memories and
conversations with relatives. I wrote this piece to preserve their
story for future generations.
In a respected army neighborhood, a bicycle repairman and a woman who had never attended school quietly built a future larger than either of them had been allowed to imagine. . . .
The Warmest Place In The VillageSyed Peerzada Shoib Nazir (c) Copyright 2026 by Syed Peerzada Shoib Nazir |
 Photo by Valeria Boltneva at Pexels. |
"Take
two girdas and four lavasas,"
my grandmother would
remind me before I left the house, handing me a cloth bag that had
carried warm bread home for years. The bakery was less than a hundred
metres from our home, yet as a child it always felt like the heart of
the village. . . .
How Sweet The SoundNatalie Kim (c) Copyright 2026 by Natalie Kim |
 Photo by Charles Parker at Pexels. |
I
started taking piano lessons from Mrs. W when I was four years old, a
pale little girl with rice-cake cheeks. For the first few months, my
mom would sit next to me and "help" me practice. As
happens when learning something new, I made mistakes.
No--it’s an A.
I know, Mommy!!!
Okay, okay...can you talk to Mommy nicely please? I’m just trying to help you. . . .
No--it’s an A.
I know, Mommy!!!
Okay, okay...can you talk to Mommy nicely please? I’m just trying to help you. . . .
Loose EndsPamella Laird (c) Copyright 2026 by Pamella Laird |
 Photo by Chen Te at Wikimedia commons..
|
How
was I going to know what they looked like? I searched the
summer-tanned faces around me with increasing anxiety. Not one showed
any sort of family resemblance.
What if they don’t come? Our choice of meeting place had been my world, right back to my childhood. Now, thirty-odd years later, here I was in a place that seemed fairly central for us all. I was standing in this garden reserve in the middle of Takapuna township, waiting for two brothers. One, I'd never met--the other, hardly more than an acquaintance. I'd no way of knowing if the two men were familiar with this rose garden reserve where we'd meet what was left of our family for the first time. . . .
What if they don’t come? Our choice of meeting place had been my world, right back to my childhood. Now, thirty-odd years later, here I was in a place that seemed fairly central for us all. I was standing in this garden reserve in the middle of Takapuna township, waiting for two brothers. One, I'd never met--the other, hardly more than an acquaintance. I'd no way of knowing if the two men were familiar with this rose garden reserve where we'd meet what was left of our family for the first time. . . .
| A
Memory Of Machu Picchu A Journey Through Time Scot Walker (c) Copyright 2026 by Scot Walker |
Photo by Tomas Sobek at Wikimedia Commons. |
December 22, 1977:
Cuzco is freezing me to the marrow of my bones. My soul, however is on fire. Tomorrow I will visit Machu Picchu, the "lost city of the Incas".
Cuzco is freezing me to the marrow of my bones. My soul, however is on fire. Tomorrow I will visit Machu Picchu, the "lost city of the Incas".
Vietnamese HotFredrick Hudgin (c) Copyright 2026 by Fredrick Hudgin |
 Photo by Khanh Hoang Minh 2 at Pexels. |
. . . .It
was the summer of 1970. I'd just finished two weeks of pre-Vietnam
training at Fort Lewis, Washington, where I'd learned how to clean,
load, and shoot an M-16 rifle. That evening, the flight to Vietnam
departed from McCord Air Force Base, next to Fort Lewis. Two of the
men I'd trained with and I had another guy take our picture while
we waited to board the plane. All of us had the same "Oh, crap!"
look on our faces. . . .
| It
Could Swallow Harry Polk Whole! Ronnie Dee
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
|
Back
in Henry Clay elementary school, where I went for five years, I only
remember a few things from that experience. I remember walking home
down the alley on the last day of school. Before me laid three months
of freedom, sleeping late and doing whatever. It was a feeling like no
other. I cannot adequately put into words the glorious feeling of those
first few days of summer vacation. I never understood that misguided
handful of kids who actually rejoiced when school started again. . . .
| Memories
Of Iguazu Falls From my Diaries, December 1989 Scot Walker (c) Copyright 2026 by Scot Walker |
 Photo by Ricardo Freitas at Wikimedia Commons. |
The excursion to Iguazu Falls will be the
first of my 3
scheduled tours of Argentina before I continue to Chile and then to
Rio--my favorite city. In Argentina I'll visit Iguazu
Falls in the steaming hot jungle on the border of Brazil, Paraguay
and Argentina then fly back to Buenos Aires before heading down to
the tip of South America at Ushuaia with a stop at penguin land in
Trelew as I fly back to B.A. before flying off to Bariloche where I'd
take the lake crossing to Chile. . . .
| Campers Lorne Wilson (c) Copyright 2026 by Lorne Wilson |
 Dawn. Photo courtesy of the author. |
I
was six years old, in Saskatchewan in 1955, and an early riser. Only
birds chirped in the quiet of the rising sun when I got up. The clock
said five-thirty. I was not to wake my parents early in the morning,
so I went outside to warm in the sunshine.
I hung around outside our homemade trailer, which we had camped across the road from a lake. I wandered around the yard, exploring, and would have gone to the lake across the road to look, but I wasn't allowed. If I went there, I could drown, my mother had said. I argued I wouldn't go in the water. She still said no. Instead, I checked the shed for mice, where I'd found some before. I poked holes in the grass with a stick and then wandered out onto the road. . . .
|
Again, The Kingdom Of Navarre Giles Ryan (c) Copyright 2026 by Giles Ryan |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
I walked this way ten years ago but could not go
the way
I wished -- Napoleon’s Pass, the higher, harder way
-- because it was still blocked by snow that late April day and
the only way open was the Valcarlos path, Charlemagne's way
across the Pyrenees, the safe way, and I had not come in search of
safety. In that moment it was a disappointment and this has rankled,
unreasonably, all these years but now I mean to make it right. . . .
|
It Takes A Village
|
|
. . . .Last
Friday, Carl Dunnock, a Wildlife Specialist with the USDA, traveled
from Taylors Island, a beautiful, scenic area just west of Cambridge,
Maryland, to Georgetown, Delaware, and handed me two four-week-old
Ospreys for transport to Tri-State. He explained that they had to be
removed from their nest atop the Taylors Island Volunteer Fire
Company's emergency siren, which had broken a few weeks prior
and needed repair. The siren was essential for alerting volunteer
firemen but was also used as a warning system for the nearby Calvert
Cliffs Nuclear Power Plant. JB Tieder, the fire chief, made all the
calls necessary to legally remove the chicks. . . .
An Ascension Most UndignifiedManasi Pundlik (c) Copyright 2026 by Manasi Pundlik |
 Photo by Ketut Subiyanto at Pexels. |
There
is a peculiar kind of family memory that refuses to fade. It survives
not because it altered the course of anyone's life, but because it
preserves someone exactly as they once were. For my family, that
memory is of my younger brother at twelve years old, suspended on the
moving handrail of an escalator, ascending helplessly through a
shopping mall while an audience of strangers looked on. . . .
| What
It Was, Was Soccer Ronnie Dee
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
|
|
. . . .Okay, I held off as long as I could, but the time
is nigh. Soccer is a terrible bore. The only reason I am watching it
is because it is the World Cup, being played mostly in America. An
event that, thank God, only happens once every four years with 48
National teams in a pseudo war, so emotions are at a peak. The
contests are fiercely contested, as national pride is at stake.
That is the main attraction. I do enjoy the competition. Also, I am
usually doing something else and I don't mind catching a few snippets
when the announcers start going out of their minds when something
almost happens. And like it or not, I want the Americans to advance
as far as they can. . . .
| The
Tastes Of Love Angelina Bell (c) Copyright 2026 by Angelina Bell |
 Photo by Los Muertos Crew at Pexels. |
We
eagerly waited at the Greyhound bus station for Grandma Gonzales's
care packages. In the summer, we received a case of sweet dark
cherries and pignolias from Grandma's trees in Taos, New
Mexico. Mom would roast the pignolias in the oven. I loved eating
tasty roasted pine nuts found inside the thin brown shells we cracked
with our teeth. . . .
More...
|
My First Real Trip
James L. Cowles(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles
|
 Photo by Pixabay at Pexels. |
. . . .Seventy-five
years ago this coming September, my mother visited my fifth-grade
teacher with me to tell her that I would be missing two weeks of
school. As I recall, school had only been in session for a week or
so, and my teacher hardly knew me. I vividly remember that session,
because my new teacher, Ms. Rader, wasn't thrilled about one of her
students missing so much of the early part of a new term. . . .
| The
Day Everything Changed Garvita Malik (c) Copyright 2026 by Garvita Malik |
 Photo by Frank Alarcon on Unsplash |
July
10, 2019, my dearest brother was born, and I was no longer a single
child and losing my 'single child' status wasn't a
big thing. I had always wished for a brother as I had no one to play
with, and when I was 7, my brother was born.
I was in school, knowing my mother had been admitted to the hospital for 4 days, and in recess, my class teacher came up to me and said, 'Garvita, you are now a big sister of your small brother', and she showed me a photo my mom had sent of my brother in a hospital tray, and my first reaction wasn't wow! Or yay! Was it 'Ugh! Is. . . this my brother?'. . .
I was in school, knowing my mother had been admitted to the hospital for 4 days, and in recess, my class teacher came up to me and said, 'Garvita, you are now a big sister of your small brother', and she showed me a photo my mom had sent of my brother in a hospital tray, and my first reaction wasn't wow! Or yay! Was it 'Ugh! Is. . . this my brother?'. . .
| Mountain
Girl David Cameron (c) Copyright 2026 by David Cameron |
 Photo by Cottonbro Studio at Pexels.. |
There's
a
knock at the door; the lightest rapping of knuckles on weathered
wood. We freeze, looking toward the door and then at each other. We
are five teenage boys who had been dropped off two days earlier at a
mountain cabin. 48 hours have passed, and we are still astonished to
find ourselves living the adventure fantasy of suburban 13-year-olds
everywhere--on our own with no adult in sight. But the knock
surprises us. Who, besides our parents, even knows we're there?. . .
| The
Gospel According To Bruce Lee David Cameron (c) Copyright 2026 by David Cameron |
 Photo of Republic of Tajikistan stamp at Wikimedia Commons. |
I
balanced the basket of folded clothes on one knee while digging the
key out of my pocket and jamming it into the lock on my apartment
door. Turning the knob, I pushed against the stubborn portal,
swollen and stuck from the unbearable humidity. It was the tail end
of July in Camden, SC, and the mid-state oven had been
cranked
to broil for weeks. . . .
| The
Map That Held The World A Journey Through Martha Maria's Kitchen Alexander da Silva Lima (c) Copyright 2026 Alexander da Silva Lima |
 Photo by Robert Taylor at Wikimedia Commons. |
This is a true
biographical nonfiction story about my maternal grandmother, Martha
Maria, a woman from Acopiara, Ceara, who migrated to the
Pontal do Paranapanema, in Sao Paulo state, and whose kitchen
became my first understanding of geography, memory, migration, food,
and survival. . . .
Lightning, Thunder, Rain, and Sand; Lost!Garth Wigle (c) Copyright 2026 by Garth Wigle |
 Base camp in Tripoli, Libya, etching by the author |  Libyan desert print by the author |
I
was a better forecaster before I studied meteorology than I am today.
Over the years, I have decoded MAFOR messages (marine forecasts),
ballistic met messages, aviation weather products. All rendered in
their unique codes.
My
meteorological studies didn't formally begin until I joined
Transport Canada in 1989.
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| Hoot
Mon, A Scotsman Ronnie Dee
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
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The
Storefront Congregation was my favorite bar for years. I was a good
friend of the owner, Kenny, who was also a big baseball fan. We went
to a number of the Cincinnati Reds games and one year we went to the
playoffs and the World Series. The Storefront featured folk and
bluegrass music and was a popular place for years. They also featured
some outstanding rock & roll from time to time. It was a former
grocery and had full front windows, upon which they painted the names
of each week's musical performers. Bardstown Road was a main
thoroughfare in Louisville and it was pretty cool to have your name
on the window for all to see. . . .
Do You See Me Too?Jennah Etyem (c) Copyright 2026 by Jennah Etyem |
 Photo by joaquin-carfagna at Pexels |
There
are few moments in my life where I have felt small.
I
mean, there's the obvious times like when I called my teacher "mom" in tenth grade and my table partner spent the rest
of the period mocking me or when I got to school one October morning
only to realize there was a sock static-clinging to the inside of my
hoodie. But there are also the quieter moments like when I'm
telling a customer their total and it's $9.11 and I round to
.10. Or when the topic is genocide and the teacher makes an effort to
avoid eye contact with me aiming for casual but being anything but as
she skips over my hijab-clad head in the rotation. . . .
|
It's
Sushi But Why Does It Taste. . .Kind Of. . .Peruvian? Dharma Caceres (c) Copyright 2026 by Dharma Caceres |
 Photo by Kuiyibo Campos at Pexels. |
. . . .Growing
up, my favorite food was sushi. With my family, we would go to this
one Japanese restaurant a few blocks from our house every other
weekend and we knew our order by heart: two yakimeshi orders, one
shrimp tempura, half a tray of California rolls and half spicy tuna,
one tray of 'acevichado' rolls and one 'ceviche
Nikkei style' platter. All these dishes constituted a
commonplace meal we would have at a Japanese restaurant in Peru.
When I moved to Canada, however, I realized this wasn't the
case outside of Peru. . . .
The Bible On Her DeskIssac Sohn (c) Copyright 2026 by Isaac Sohn |
 Photo by Vitaliy Photo at Pexels. |
. . . .My
grandmother's Bible was always on her desk.
At
first, I remembered it simply as part of the room. Some houses have a
clock, a chair, a cup that is always near the sink. In my
grandmother's house, there was the Bible on the desk. It was there so
steadily that, for a long time, I almost did not see it. . . .
| Meantime Abby Reese Asimos (c) Copyright 2026 Abby Reese Asimos |
 Photo by Fernando Serrano at Pexels. |
Every
shopping list I make in Zambia begins with hydrogen peroxide. First
for teeth whitening. Now because my cheeks are scratched from pumpkin
leaves. Water stings, which is a problem. Water makes you sick here
if not boiled and filtered and bleached. The hydrogen peroxide
bleaches my smile--one of my best features I've been
told, but I can't see myself anymore, so I can't attest.
I brush my teeth dry now, counting on my wet mouth to make a foam.
Water is not something to waste so flippantly.
I
was, and can still say am, excited to be unattached to myself as I
serve in the Peace Corps. It's a new phenomenon for me to
regularly not know what I look like in any sort of close-up clarity,
and hopefully, to one day not care. Let's ignore the fact I
chose my malaria prophylaxis purely on the fact it doubles as acne
treatment. . . .
| Rainy
Season Abby Reese Asimos (c) Copyright 2026 Abby Reese Asimos |
 Photo by Pritam Chowdhury at Pexels. |
When
the rain is gone, I will want it to come back. I try to remind myself
of this, but sometimes the melancholy the damp brings wins. Right now
I live in Ray Bradbury's "All Summer in a Day." I
miss the sun. I miss summer. I was home then and well fed and loved
or at least delusional enough to think so. I am loved here but it is
different. I thought I saw forever. Now I see water water water. And
to resent the water is to be an enemy to the farmers and therefore an
enemy to the people and therefore an enemy to Zambia. Zambia, who I
treasure. Who I gave up a decent amount for, maybe even that forever.
But two years three months is not forever. That is what I told
everyone, especially myself, when preparing to leave for my rural
Peace Corps service. . . .
| The
Colony Of Ten Houses Alexander da Silva Lima (c) Copyright 2026 Alexander da Silva Lima |
Photo by UMUT 🆁🅰🆆 at Pexels |
When
I was a child, I did not know that poverty had a name. Maybe that is
why it did not weigh on me the way it would later, after I left the
colony and discovered that the world outside liked to explain
everything. As if naming a thing were the same as understanding it.
As if a single word could hold all that we had lived.
For
me, there was only the colony.
Ten
farmhouses lined up beside a dirt road, at the far end of the Pontal
do Paranapanema, in the interior of the state of Sao Paulo, Brazil.
From the outside, they looked almost the same, like sisters, but each
one kept its own world behind the door. Ten houses. Ten families. Ten
ways of crossing a day when the day came larger than the body. . . .
| The
Next Cawood Ledford Ronnie Dee
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee
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|
Back
in fifth grade my teacher summed up my school life pretty accurately.
She sent my grandmother a note stating that I was a nice boy, with
great potential, but tended to distract the other children with my
antics and disrupted the classroom when I got them giggling.
She hoped that I would settle down without any more incidents, and
then the p.s. "Thank you so much for the chocolate chip cookies.
They were delicious."
Thank you Mom, a little bribe never hurt. . . .
Thank you Mom, a little bribe never hurt. . . .
All In The Brain?Bob Kaill (c) Copyright 2026 by Bob Kaill |
 Brain image courtesy of the author. |
In the summer of 1982 after O'ringens 5-day orienteering competition in Lulea, Sweden, I heard Lars-erik Unestahl's lecture on mental training. During the few years afterwards I helped Lars-Erik a little, mostly by editing some of his books such as The Mental Aspects of Gymnastics (1983), Orebro, Veje Publ.
During that year or two, I tested (non-scientifically) some of Lars-Erik's ideas on myself. . . .
The River's CurrentSky Matherson (c) Copyright 2026 by Sky Matherson |
 Photo by Mart Production at Pexels. |
On
the rare occasions I attempted to "relax" in the same
room with my family, one memory stands out. It helped shape the way I
view my mother to this day. We were in my grandmother's bedroom, with
two beds. My mother sat on my grandmother's bed while I joined my
siblings on the second bed. I was almost 18, my sister was six years
younger than me, and my brother was two years younger than her.
Everyone was on their own device while "enjoying" one
another's company when my mother suddenly turned her attention to us. . . .
Elvis Has Not Left The BuildingJanet Peterson (c) Copyright 2026 by Janet Peterson |
 Photo courtesy of the author. |
Elvis
gyrated, crooned, and belted out his greatest hits, captivating my
young eyes and ears nearly fifty years ago. I remember the spectacle:
the heavier Elvis, resplendent in a white sequined cape, tossing
sweat-soaked silk scarves to a greedy crowd--I longed to catch
one myself.
| Beginning Laurie Mackie (c) Copyright 2026 Laurie Mackie |
 Photo by Reshma Mallecha on Pexels |
I'm
a boomer, a bulge. One minuscule dot in that twenty-year statistical
hump in birth rates between '46 and '64. The data divers say we
shaped the Canadian economy. We bent the social structures.
Apparently, in our getting older age, we still do. The Millenials (1981--1996) and Gen Zs (1997--2012)--must every
generation have a label?--have different opinions. We destroyed
the environment, overburdened the economy, and left our young to
support us in our dotage. Perhaps we did. Maybe we have. But in our
days we fought. We broke the status quo. We marched and died for
peace, rights, and equality. . . .
| I'll Ask My Husband First Fajar Sukma (c) Copyright 2026 Fajar Sukma |
 Photo by Sena Aykut at Pexels. |
This story is about my
wife's uncle--a man who was given a clear role in our
tradition and chose to ignore it for most of his life, and about what
my wife decided to do when he called us, sick and alone, with nowhere
else to turn. It is also, quietly, about her. . ..
| The
Library That Remembers You Nataly Almomani (c) Copyright 2026 Nataly Almomani |
 Photo by Sami TURK at Pexels. |
The
first time the town of Willowmere noticed something strange about the
old library, it was not because of ghosts or screams or anything
dramatic like that. It was because the books never seemed to stay in
the same place, even when no one had touched them. Every morning, the
librarian would unlock the heavy wooden doors and find that at least
three books had shifted to different shelves overnight. Sometimes a
fairy tale would end up in the science section, and sometimes an atlas
would be sitting quietly in the poetry corner. People joked that the
library was "tidying itself," but no one could explain it. That was
also the week a girl named Sofia moved to Willowmere.