The Ghosts of Home

My father began asking me to go home sometime in August. He started with subtle hints – the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, random old music, and snapshots of shared memories. But I should mention that no embodied being in my home drinks coffee, and my dad left this realm 16 years ago.

Death and Fruitcake

Three things mark this season of death and remembrance for me: the severe drop in temperatures; the death anniversaries of many in my family, most specifically my parents; and the perceived closeness of the ancestors as the veils thin.

Healing the Land

Who knows how long this land has been yearning for the return of plants that feel just right in her soil? I do not have the answer to that question, but I know she has been whispering to me about it since I met her.