In Texas, it never really smells like fall. In the most real sense, fall requires things to slowly turn brown, die and decay, and though that happens here, it’s hardly gradual. It goes from summer to winter almost instantly. October here means 75 degrees and breezy with cooler nights and crisp mornings, but it’s not… Continue reading Homecoming
My father has had the same morning routine since I can remember. I don’t actually know what it looks like–his door was always (mostly) closed in the mornings–but I recognize the sounds and smells: the radio clicking on, the shower knob turning, the creaky medicine cabinet opening and shutting, the Old Spice aroma filling the… Continue reading Ritual
My baby sister turned 24 last week. She celebrated, to my shock and horror, by jumping out of a plane and skydiving through the air with her boyfriend, an adrenaline junkie whom I have yet to meet. She told me it was happening in a text the day before. The detail was crammed between her… Continue reading Layla
Essays Exploring Craft and the Writing Life
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