The guard locked the gate. When I think back now on that day, I don't think he saw me, tucked away in the shade. I was resting on my favorite bench in Old Town--one I often make special trips to visit, even though it is just a plain thing of worn paint on worn wood. It sits in an extra-hi...
Cushions
A gentle dawn. To the west the few puffs of cloud are pale against a pale background. To the east the clouds are a layer of soft dove-gray, lightly touched with pink. The sun is behind them, beneath them, not yet up over the Sandias, and the world still rests in a sleepy half-light. My gaze drops...
Providence
The warblers fed in silence. I am used to the constant calling of goldfinches and house finches, to the drone of hummingbird wings. The warblers surprised me. They hopped from branch to branch of the desert olives, weaving among them like dappled sunlight. In the stillness of a golden September a...
Stacy Moore
A contemplative, literary blog.