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The next few days are the same, thinking about the trees and dirt outside, thinking about God, thinking about finding a new job, thinking about her. Some days she comes home and when it’s sunny outside, I’m on the ground and she’ll sit beside me. We’ll talk about our day and write words into the dirt before going inside to wash our hands and make dinner.

Ashton Bruce, Staff Writer

May 15, 2017

Romanticism exists in soil. Decayed and decaying and will decay. Pieces of God are underneath dying grass with flecks of something holy and poetic in the pollen and leaves. And there’s dirt underneath my fingernails, and I taste it when I chew them. I exist at the same time with things and creatures...

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A Letter to a Pessimist from an Optimist Who Thinks Like a Realist

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ~Albert Einstein

Diana Rodgers, Web Editor

April 18, 2017

I could tell you to smile, To let your tear stained face go dry, Because there is so much in the world to look forward too, To cheer up, Because the sun is shining high and the birds are singing out their heart song; But it’s not true. None of what I just told you is true. I could...

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