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Later, she slipped back into her care home bed in the Dementia wing of the building, and breathed some shallow breaths.


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When we were young and small we played in the orchard. Mom made apple pies and fried apples, caramel apples and apple sauce, apple cider. Grandma’s apple butter recipe.

On Edges of Everything

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Goodbye is no joke to me, but it might as well sound like something cotton left banging in the wind, I suppose. It's stopped snowing for now, I think. Oh, my heart always says to just follow through, but I still always end up feeling…