the freedom to be heard

I met Emlyn at the silver row of mail boxes in our apartment complex courtyard.  When I first discovered him, he was dropping pieces of mail on the ground like a card-trick gone wrong while he wrestled with his stubborn old wheel chair.  One arm hung heavily at his side…he grabbed it in the long…

Of plates and silver spiders

There was a choice to be made this morning…between editing and re-editing, stifled by the pressure to churn out a piece to impress you, polished and perfect in every way…or casting upon the water what I love to do most…just to write and see what spills out. I decided to post just the real and…