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. . . A dog barks farther up the trail,
and I know we are not alone
though all we can hear above the creek’s
rumble is an occasional wren in . . . Continue Reading

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. . . as filtered sunlight sparks gems
on the cascading water, the last section streaming
over in thin sheets and strings, with globs plunging
down like thrown goblets of . . . Continue Reading

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. . . an old dirt road meanders under oak and beech, past rhododendron, through a shallow creek and out into light,
meadows on either side. At the end of the road . . . Continue Reading

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Congratulations Colette Tennant!

. . . Way back in the holler squats an abandoned house.
Metal clothes hangers clang in the fickle wind
like ancient bells punished for failing to warn
the town about a coming apocalypse.
In the shed, a half rotten . . . Continue Reading

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When it rained hard, I’d huddle in the chair
pull my legs up against the mist, grieve
as the water mourned over eaves, endure the slap

sound on the beaten earth below
as the distant creek . . . Continue Reading

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In: Nonfiction, Way Back When
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People with roots in Appalachia are taught to stand up to people because we haven’t forgotten what was taken from us. It is a huge region, but each major area has been pushed too far too often, with little agency or choice. For those in coal country, they lost their land to coercion, resource speculation, and railroad land use laws. They then found themselves bound in . . . Continue Reading

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All of a sudden there’s a noise high up in the oaks, and a cool wind roars down from the mountains and races up the valley to envelope us. She turns her face to the wind, and her wavy gray hair moves as she smiles and . . . Continue Reading