Everything is Broken

by Laura Parker Roerden I. My mother used to talk about the garden she and I would plant together in her retirement, with imperfect peonies, roses, lily of the valley, and tall stands of irises swaying in the breeze facing the western sky of the upper pasture, where the sunset we watched nightly could mirror […]

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A Coming Hurricane

by Laura Parker Roerden I read today that a flock of seagulls was once trapped in the eye of a hurricane. The birds had sought refuge in the false calm of fair skies, but didn’t realize they now flew through a tunnel of destruction, all ways out blocked by certain devastation. Birds that sense plummeting […]

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A Small Poem

by Laura Parker Roerden Small things sometimes call us home, like the two birds I saw circling the hay field this morning on my way back from farm chores. Their shrill vibrating whistle, a half warning, half invitation stunned me awake from a deep dream—even though I should have been sufficiently awake from an hour […]

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The Garden Spider

by Laura Parker Roerden Every single evening in her short life the garden spider spins a web of concentric circles. Each anchored to five or so holdfasts, simple spokes on a wheel, against which everything hinges. Around and around she goes, adding to her work, bridging the distance from one holdfast to another, length by […]

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A Way with Water

by Laura Parker Roerden I have always thought rocks uncommonly beautiful, none the less when I notice one along the river move: a long neck gracefully emerging from the mottled grey mound and now pointing towards the river. It’s only in the refection in the water that I realize that what I have before me […]

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