Skip to main content
  • My grandmother's kerchief

    Certainly, over the past 20 years, I would occasionally open the drawer, and sort through the bright colors and bold patterns, but I would always carefully fold them back up and put them away until another day, but not this time. 
  • My grandmother's kerchief
    Certainly, over the past 20 years, I would occasionally open the drawer, and sort through the bright colors and bold patterns, but I would always carefully fold them back up and put them away until another day, but not this time. 
  • Just a wee bit chilly
    I am sitting on the side deck. No doubt about it. I am a bit cold, but I do not want to move. The sun is shining down between the clouds, warming the black fur of the dog that sits by my side, and it occurs to me that it is good to wear black on a chilly fall day.
  • Just a wee bit chilly
    I am sitting on the side deck. No doubt about it. I am a bit cold, but I do not want to move. The sun is shining down between the clouds, warming the black fur of the dog that sits by my side, and it occurs to me that it is good to wear black on a chilly fall day.
  • Old friends
    It amazes me that we have known each other for 40 years. To my eye, we both look the same as we did the day we met, standing in her mother’s kitchen, real butter under a ceramic lid, as I learned to make wine from her father.
  • Old friends
    It amazes me that we have known each other for 40 years. To my eye, we both look the same as we did the day we met, standing in her mother’s kitchen, real butter under a ceramic lid, as I learned to make wine from her father.
  • The blue heron
    We were soon up on the main road and headed to the county fairgrounds. It seemed that we had joined a throng of fellow county folks all on their way to set up for the weeklong adventure. 
  • The blue heron
    We were soon up on the main road and headed to the county fairgrounds. It seemed that we had joined a throng of fellow county folks all on their way to set up for the weeklong adventure. 
  • The pear tree
    It was the end of the season. The grass had stopped growing, and the night air was crisp. The buckeye leaves had begun to fall, and one day when Greg and I were out and about, we decided to stop by the discount store to see what already discounted items might be on sale.
  • The pear tree
    It was the end of the season. The grass had stopped growing, and the night air was crisp. The buckeye leaves had begun to fall, and one day when Greg and I were out and about, we decided to stop by the discount store to see what already discounted items might be on sale.
  • Spreading their wings
    Greg stood on the front porch, a dog on either side, as my tires crunched across the gravel and I headed down the road to leave the creek. I drove east through the mountains, past farms and fields, to the city.
  • Spreading their wings
    Greg stood on the front porch, a dog on either side, as my tires crunched across the gravel and I headed down the road to leave the creek. I drove east through the mountains, past farms and fields, to the city.
  • Yard 'sailing'
    The season is almost over. It reminds me of the way I savor the last few bites of a melting ice cream cone, or slowly relish walking the rows of sweet corn, as I snap off the last few, perfectly ripe ears.
  • Yard 'sailing'
    The season is almost over. It reminds me of the way I savor the last few bites of a melting ice cream cone, or slowly relish walking the rows of sweet corn, as I snap off the last few, perfectly ripe ears.
  • Summer creek time
    Creek time does not seem to understand either the clock or the calendar. There are moments that last forever, as when I sit by the hives and watch the bees, now laden with late summer’s purple pollen, return to their evening colonies.
  • Summer creek time
    Creek time does not seem to understand either the clock or the calendar. There are moments that last forever, as when I sit by the hives and watch the bees, now laden with late summer’s purple pollen, return to their evening colonies.
Subscribe to Christine Tailer