Speaking to the Rain, by Donald Illich

We can speak to the rain, but it does not say anything to us. “Why are you so strong? Why do you want to flood us?” we ask it.  But it...

Working Farm for Sale by J.D. Smith

The hives have gotten through another year— I’m sure you’ve heard of the alternative. Buy soon and you can have the Holsteins here. No guarantee of how much milk they’ll...

Writer’s Block by Kelly Jacobson

Yoga tape today played fast-forward, then upward- downward-- pen in child’s pose. Weeds through cobblestones pulled and piled, blown apart-- roots stay in the ground. Dishes in the sink are now scrubbed clean and...

Hands in Flow by Cheryl Pallant

In 2009 I traveled near South Korea's Demilitarized Zone to visit and write an article about the then 79 year old shaman Kim Keum Hwa. During my second visit, she surprised me by asking me to get up and dance. After, and for the duration of the day, she and several of her disciples encouraged me to pursue a path as a shaman.

He Was Beautiful by Ron Moore

When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.