By Deb Codding Life’s journey and the path followed is a rhythmical series of comings, goings, decline and regrowth–changing the landscape continuously, much like the ebb and flow of the tides. While it rarely turns out the way we expect, it always turns out the way it should when we pay attention and learn from the lessons encountered along the way.

By Destiny B Key It’s a month full of transitions in many ways. Leaves are still lingering, the fiscal year is just starting, the snow is falling but it’s hesitant to stick. Bears are still out but preparing for a winter hibernation. Halloween is around the corner, where little ghosts, witches, and goblins are going house to house for a treat or two. The outfits you see are some concoction of a cozy sweater, pair of Xtratufs and a matching beanie. It’s a mixture of cold and warm outside, cold but not cold enough. It’s a mystery, one that comes once a year.

By Destiny B Key  The summer before I left for boot camp, I came across a creek that was filled with salmon. When I say “filled,” I mean filled with salmon everywhere. I took off my sweater, put on my Xtratufs, and hopped in. I watched their swimming patterns and waded into the waters until an opportunity came for me to swoop a salmon in my hands. I fell in a couple times, but eventually I got my hands on a salmon. Think about it. How many people get to run through the cold Alaskan creeks and catch salmon with their hands? 

By joe The moment the pitcher releases the ball the play begins. The outfielder listens to the sound of the ball when it contacts the bat. He watches the ball jump off the bat, and feels the air and wind and the turf beneath his feet. Then he goes to a spot. But not just any spot. In the immense green of the outfield, he goes to the spot, and he makes a seemingly improbable catch. To listen, to watch, to feel, to know.

By Audri Goodwine Growing up, I was quiet and very observant of my surroundings. I didn’t realize this is who I was until I got into college. Before I left for school, I was so used to just coming home, greeting my dogs and parents, hanging out with my former partner and family, and I was fulfilled. But once I moved away from home, I realized how alone I was. I’m slowly learning how to feel more comfortable around others. I run out of my social battery very quickly, but there’s definitely improvements. I’m trying to accept who I am, and honestly, that’s a start for me.

By Annelida K SmithVail Scene: brown liquid has spilled over shirtfront and lap, over pages. A shouted curse gives voice to the damage, outrage on behalf of uncaring words. Scene: ink has spilled onto sheets of fiber. Spilled from a cartridge, spilled following the motions of a printer belt, spilled precisely into letters. Scene: a sentence has spilled out from shaking lips. It wasn’t meant to be given voice, was supposed to remain safely withheld. An accident, intentional, following the motions of a heart pumping blood, blood that is not spilled. Blood that cools and dries anyway.

By Annelida K SmithVail I walk past the raven carcass again. Every time, I am somehow surprised it is still there, but why wouldn’t it be? It’s at the edge of the forest, out of the way of people, but right by a road that animals prefer to avoid. I imagine the raven’s spirit spreading its wings, flying joyfully from the site of its death. I imagine its body breaking down, becoming a part of the land. I imagine, but all I can see is a corpse, wings splayed out, bones exposed, a record of death and nothing more.

By Annelida K SmithVail Lynn stepped into the room and froze. Katie was staring at the wall again, finger-tracing shapes in the air, lips moving as though muttering—but she was silent. She slowly turned her head to her mother, and Lynn’s stomach churned. She’d heard stories of changelings, the creatures that faeries leave in place of stolen children. Reminding herself that she didn’t believe in such things, Lynn steeled herself and looked into her daughter’s eyes. Katie’s pupils were dilated so wide. Her mouth quirked up, shifted to speak, and Lynn recoiled. When she looked again at her daughter, Lynn’s expression was silent.

By Super Swiper Swipe left, swipe right The Tinder game I could play all night  Why do all these guys insist on telling me their height? The profiles on this app truly give me a fright Even though some people can be quite polite, I’ll tell you the truth: I’m not interested in any of them, all right? Because it doesn’t matter what they write, The bottom line is I can’t stand this site Yet when I get bored and want to cure my lonely plight,  I hop back on the app thinking maybe I just might

By Anonymous On the darkest and most chaotic days, we tend to stray away from our roots. In these days, it is only right to live as a flower. To do this is to remember where we are rooted, to stand tall, let our pollen plant new seeds, and let our petals come and go as we grow.