Wild Honey
“You ever watch bees? One goes out, finds nectar, and starts buzzing. Pretty soon the air is full of them. People ain’t any different.”
Category archive: Patricia Crisafulli
The ‘Firsts’ of Spring
Tricia’s Blog
T his is the season of firsts, eagerly and duly recorded: first robin, first daffodil, first leaf buds, first day above sixty and then seventy degrees. In the northern part of the U.S. where I live, such firsts are savored as incontrovertible evidence, more telling than the date on the calendar, that winter has finally lost the tug of war and spring is winning the battle.
Lazarus
Buddy told Father Simpson the whole story in one breath… “We want you to resurrect him.”
Fiction by
Patricia Crisafulli
Deep Water
Fiction by
Patricia Crisafulli
Sylvia was the first to arrive, twenty-two minutes before the class was scheduled to begin. Scanning the six long tables arranged in a rectangle, she decided to take a seat in the middle along the far wall, her back to the windows overlooking the parking lot. The flyer carried in her purse calmed the buzz of fearful embarrassment that she might have arrived on the wrong day or at the wrong time.
One Way
In my search for existential truth, I would have settled for some directions.
Essay by
Patricia Crisafulli
Delwyn’s Feather
Holiday fiction by
Patricia Crisafulli
S now sugared the lawn and whitened the balsam wreathes at the twin bay windows flanking the front door painted red as holly berries. Lacy flakes drifted to earth, one tethering itself to the sleeve of the old black wool jacket that Delwyn Edward Morgan wore.
Sometimes You Just Got to Believe
Tricia’s Blog
Whether you await a Child or you long for Peace on Earth, or you strive to see goodness in the abyss of heartbreaking news, it takes attention and intention to turn away from the darkness and embrace the light.
Time Snapshots
Tricia’s Blog
I cannot stop time, or deadlines, or the pressures of my chosen profession. My only choice is to become more mindful.
The Sounds of Snow
I made a deliberate attempt to listen past my own noise, to discern each sound of snow.
Essay by
Patricia Crisafulli
Java Jake
Fiction by
Patricia Crisafulli
Lillian always said she saw something in him; “I know what you can become.”