Dusk mutes green and all of green’s variations. Along the path, bare feet press the sheen out of damp clover. White blossoms of blackberrie...

He's an artist, still asleep under the quilt. Last night's shoes and clothes are scattered, leaving a trail back to the kitchen. I...

. Clusters of grapes are stenciled on a periwinkle watering can in my aunt’s kitchen. Two rusted hand pruners and the old rosewood harvesti...

I slip the Lawrence Welk DVD into the player and whisper, “Mom, our first sleep over.” Black and whites change with the notes on his accordi...

I find the amputee's room. The old woman is busy gluing an orange ring of florets onto the center of a giant sunflower cut from paper. P...

Every season my father changes the color of mom’s place mat, but our monthly dinners are always the same. We sit in the kitchen not far from...

. What's left of his art is scattered in the apartment as if too heavy to hang—water colors of a barn-red outbuilding beyond the fence p...

. I show my son how to tie up the food pack. “It keeps the bears away.” He carries me through the darkness to the lake’s edge where my husba...

Crayons spread across the bedside table in her room. She's had recent surgery but I don't know her name. Is she mom's age? I cli...