by Amy Martin (c) www.moonlady.com The frogs are singing. A solo love serenade has turned into a duet, the croaking drawing closer, then building in intensity to a watery drunken bliss. In the morning, lines […]
The Forgiving Summer Rain
by Amy Martin (c) We just watched our farm blow away. There was nothing else we could do. Five acres of cucumbers withered in the heat, unable to blossom. No blooms, no cukes, no money. […]
And Then You Remember Why
by Amy Martin (c) Hardly a day goes by that don’t I wonder why I do this, or that I don’t worry that if another responsibility or expense is laid on me that I’ll just […]
The Party and the Party Crashers
by Amy Martin (c) Come winter, every cold front from the north pushes ahead of it swarms of songbirds – and the birds of prey that feed on them – into the relative warmth of […]
The First Front of Fall
by Amy Martin Hints arose earlier in the day, high wispy clouds, thin in the stratosphere, the sign of cold weather, even though temps were in the 90s. Looking for persimmons late that afternoon a […]
