Legacy of a Pickpocket
Essay By Todd Matson It had been a family mystery for 70 years—what happened to Grandpa’s father, Oren Day. All we knew was that Grandpa had lost his father at a young age....
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From Heron to Hummingbird
Tricia’s Blog In the quiet of the morning, before the early summer sun rose too high in the sky, shadows obscured the heron’s silhouette. Glancing across the marsh, where water plants dotted the...
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Porsche Joy Ride
An Essay by Ted Wesenberg What I remember most about senior prom is the smell of mud and the taste of burning. That day, Spencer picked me up in his father’s Porsche convertible. “Get in,” he said,...
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In the Small Hours of the Morning
By Patricia Crisafulli In the Small Hours of the Morning By Patricia Crisafulli Without looking at her phone by the bedside or the antique clock on the shelf across the bedroom, Emilie...
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Fall in Love with a Good Read
There’s a Change in the Air –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Oregon, our long, hot and very dry summer is coming to an end with rain on the way — refreshing, restoring. This is the...
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Love Slips in Quietly
by Carol Casey A shy, subtle thing, no flare, no fashion sense, dressed for work, sleeves rolled up, easily eclipsed by brash and flash. She smiles at such brilliance, then smooths her worn, grey...
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The Agent
Original Fiction Steve Slavin Michael had three things going for him. He hosted great parties. He loved introducing people. And his parents, who had been killed in an automobile accident,...
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In the White Mountains
A Poem by John Grey Above the tree-line, the climb. breath and air never more unalike, tufts of grass, otherwise bare, scattered stones like old wise ones, hands blue, long legs shortening like lungs,...
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Zephyr
A Poem by Joseph Roque There is no mistake. Somewhere, there is a veiled shadyglen, secluded but not quite hiddenfrom the perfect ocean view. Secretly it summons me on sunnyafternoons, its shy zephyr...
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Land Rush
Original Fiction Patricia Crisafulli Summer of ’72 Casting a spinner from shore, Vernon followed the line’s arc to where the lure lit softly on the water and rode the ripples. Raising his...
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