The Bridegroom cometh

By Sara Bannerman I pick up a string of garland and read the yellow tag attached to it. “East entrance to living room.” The cursive is a bit squiggly, like a ripple in water. Mom insists it wasn’t a stroke that weakened her writing hand and created a very slight droop...
The gift of one another

The gift of one another

By Chris Bates There is nothing like a painted dawn in the Mississippi Delta. On a recent hunting trip, I arrived just before sunrise and took in the quiet solitude as I sat against a large oak. Stars stretched across the sky in ways that we cannot see when under city...