“Okay, what I have to say about that is…” Somehow, she knew what was coming. He scuttled out to stand where he had stood before— where she didn’t need to see him, where she could hear him without words— at the china cabinet. He rattled bell after bell: riding a dolphin for her fiftieth in San Diego, four-wheeling in Colorado with family, smuggling shoes in the name of Jesus into the school in the dump at Puerto Vallarta . “I could cast different sized bells,” he suddenly appeared at the foot of their bed again. “And hang them on ropes in the forest,” she too thick in the jungle of last night’s sleep to dream, “and run from rope to rope to ring them!” Yes, she stirred, he would run; he would ring for them when she could not. “Casting bells…” His flickering eyes flashed. His fingers danced together on their toes. “I wonder what that would be like...” “Writing poems,” she said to an empty room
Hi, I'm Laurel. I live on five acres in the foothills of the Cascades where I'm daily restored by God's creation in the midst of chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia. After studying the arts in London, I taught at the University of Washington while earning my Masters of Arts in the performance of literature. I am the retired founder of Over the Moon Storytelling. My published article won second prize in the nationally renowned Amy Foundation writing contest.