How Volcanoes Form_Is it August?_Dear Lauren_Mother's Stones
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How Volcanoes Form
My grandfather used to tell me, “All the burden you carry in this world is like holding a bunch of stones. At some point you'll be buried beneath the weight." He would tell this to me everyday, and finally end our conversations saying, "You might as well carry the whole damn realm." Grandpa never made since to me when I was growing up. He made even less sense after my father "inherited" the family business.Mom would talk about our grandparents. Somedays it sounded as though she was defending them. Trying to explain the different era they grew up. Tryinwww.onedoor.ccg to build and maintain a foundation I wo...
Is it August?
Is it August “It’s all wrong” Sheila yelled at John “Did you even look at it before you picked it up?” John had just got done shoveling the 6 inches of snow off the driveway when his wife came home. Coming back from the engravers, John decided to surprise his wife and put the present on the counter top. “What are you talking about?” He said as he picked up the candy dish There it was right before his eyes engraved on the bottom Ausust 15 2002 Engravers should know how to spell August he thought, maybe it should be a prerequisite. This clearly was...
Dear Lauren
Dear Lauren, I’m writing this because I’m not sure how to say these things aloud – I never have before. I trust you in a way that I never have another person, and I’m sorry that I kept all of this to myself for so long. Or maybe I should be sorry I’m saying anything at all. I’m sorry that I got sick and didn’t have enough time to give all of myself to you. This is the best I can do and I’m sorry for that as well. One morning, I was sitting on the toilet, pants on the floor, elbows on my knees. He sat on the bathtub rim and put his hand on my back. He had always put his hand on my back, I remem...
Mother's Stones
The first thing I remember of the valley is the grey. Grey dust from the marching feet of men and horses. Grey soot from their long-dead fires. Grey ash from the trees left standing after those heedlessly abandoned fires, their tortured grey skeletons reaching towards heaven. Even the mighty Sun, bearing down with childbed vigor, only added heat to the grey haze. The dust devils that stirred at our passage did not bring coolness nor did they break the miasma. The air about the River was slightly cooler, though the water was near black. Here, Mother paused. “Look, my daughter.” She pointed to a...