Revealing Appalachia Story by Story
As the young woman walks away, Tim points to my beer, “You’re almost done with that. I’ll get you another. You’ll want it for what I am about to tell you.” “Great. Thanks!” I holler as I throw back my first gooey cheese stick. I’m enjoying the conversation and wondering
I like watching birds in the rain. I’ve a good view of some crows now as a steady patter falls and splatters over the Appalachian Mountains on a chilly, wet, dreary, mid-October afternoon. The rain fell heavy in the early morning, but, now the water lingers as a cool, constant
Palatino kept her trail right along with me. She’s a good hound when she wants to be. At least to me not Brother. Brother says its cause we’re both girls. Says we both smell so good for good reason. I don’t pay him no mind, even though he’s telling the
Grace put the top down on the old Miata and we burned the open road, our hair spinning wild as Medusa in the crisp late spring. We should travel to Monrovia, California to see Upton Sinclair’s house, she had said, and take one of those cross-country road trips on our
The air is cool as dark, billowy clouds let loose a light mist, and a gentle breeze rustles the brightly colored limbs of deciduous trees. Leaves, in all their late October glory, with their deep reds, dark purples, bright golds, and fiery oranges, appear to dance in the air.