Writings

Author: Irene Page 32 of 49

Into the land of the hills of sand

We walked across the valley together, but as we began traversing the field of tall grass, Paul and I started to separate from the pack of humans. Without saying a word, we both felt instinctively that being bunched up and near each other was a dangerous thing.

We all continued toward an outcropping of trees in the distance, maybe two hundred yards away. Our journey had taken us from our village through two valleys as we avoided other villages on the way. It was said, once we passed the field of tall grass, we would reach the river and then the hills of sand before we would be safe.

According to the stories, once we crossed the river, we would be safe, but no one ever returned from the hills of sand to be sure. Still, we had all decided to make the journey together.

Pride in the summer

One of the coolest things I attended as a spectator this summer was Panhandle Pride. Each year, for the past five years, friends, family, and strangers gather to celebrate old and new friendships and support the LGBTQ+ community.

The chaos inside

Sweltering slumber

Be mindful of the cliff when chasing dragonflies

The dragonflies dart in front of me. They are large and swift, but are careful not to be a nuisance. They rise and fall as they flutter through the air, searching for a perch in which to look for prey.

Destroying the manuscripts

Every artist has a their own way of creating their masterpieces. Some sit in quiet rooms, diligently plugging away at the ideas in their head to make their ideas real. Others prefer the outdoors or public places. They also have ways of destroying pieces of their creation or completed projects. Each artist has their reasons for doing so. Rarely does the artist ever think about what the public or future generations will think about their actions.

erosion of the soul

The honesty of empty places

The honesty of empty places

a thought
a smile
books, hiking, breathing
happiness in solitude
enjoyment in alone

sit and watch
humans
animals
smiles from creatures
who do not understand
the joy of isolated socialization

Dancing at the edges of fire

Walk to the car
just walk to the car
there’s no one inside
it’s safe there

speak the words
to quell the thoughts
silence the memories
crush the flashbacks
keep the constant dialogue
to get the fear the fuck out of my head

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is the right thing to do

I have turned in my key. I have made my peace. I am no longer a reporter and photographer for the Star-Herald.

For the past five and a half years, I have written on a variety of topics and always put my best foot forward. That time has come to an end.

Page 32 of 49

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén