If you snip a few of the blooms that grow on the garden edge with sharp shears. If you cut in pursuit of beauty, in the hope of bringing...

In the bookstore, the fusty scent of ink and pulp. I want to lie down on the floor and breathe in the smell of words. I want to hold the...

Last night, a cricket was in the house. He made his high-pitched song and I listened from bed. He trilled and he chirped. He was calling...