A recent eight-hour flight delay made me identify with Nye’s poem “Gate A-4.” Originally scheduled to depart at 11am, we didn’t actually take off until 7pm.
During that time, I felt stressed. The noise of the airport clamored and clanged in my ears until I longed for just one minute…
Lies, lies, and more lies. At its heart, Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible is a showcase of how one lie multiplies throughout a community until it is believed as truth.
Today’s social media platforms magnify this tendency for lies to multiply into believed truth.
The sad part is, many don’t…
I love Williams’ “The Red Wheelbarrow” poem because of the white chickens.
My grandparents owned a chicken farm in deep East Texas. People came from all over the world to buy roosters and hens from Grandpa Jake.
So whenever I read the words “beside the white chickens” —
I picture their farm. I see their white chickens, and I’m transported back to hot summer mornings, gathering eggs, red dirt under my bare feet, sunlight in my eyes.
I taste watermelon slices, fresh peaches off the trees, homemade peach cobbler, and grits. I smell Grandma’s patterns, fabric, and the oil of her sewing machine.
I hear roosters crow with the dawn, the drone of the fan in the window, and the grease popping on the stove.
“The Red Wheelbarrow” makes me remember.
Today I joined NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. Until I had a friend suffer a psychotic break, I did not fully understand the ramifications of severe mental illness. The stigma associated with schizophrenia and mental disorders is such that people tend to automatically look down on people living…