Author: Tabbitha Easley

    Continue reading Denver

This week’s weather has been like heaven. Heaven if I controlled the thermostat, anyhow. My zinnias are showing wild, and the roses bounced back from the heavy rains. They’ll give me an encore of a show beginning of autumn, but will most likely start to melt a bit when it turns summer for good. I … Continue reading

We made it back from the mountains. Back to the humid and soggy patch we call home. Think all we missed was rain. What I did not miss was the bugs. Our van stayed bug-guts-free until we headed back south. Way too many creepy crawly things here in Arkansas. I did enjoy the lack thereof … Continue reading

I tailgated a chicken truck most of the winding way home from town. It looked like it was snowing. White feathers for snowflakes in the last of May. I had already taken a wrong turn that sent me right back to Bentonville, tacking on an additional 40 minutes to my drive home. I was only … Continue reading home

Honest moments. Honest, meaning candid and unscripted. Like the scent coming off each home in the dark of evening as I walk. A dryer vent, food cooking on a stovetop, and a fire pit. The smells telling me a story of the life inside the walls. The sweetness of irises, and honeysuckle, and roses instructing … Continue reading honest

Writing has been harder to pin down lately. It’s not for lack of words, but rather, the lack of choosing them. I can find myself all over the place in the course of a day, exploring many places. My mind is an adventurer. Disciplining it is a chore.  I’ve been tending to baby birds lately. … Continue reading

There’s a slowing that comes when you’ve reached the end of yourself. Like the last bit of honey, sluggishly seeping down the jar to a reluctant, pooled drip, then a finely webbed drizzle. It’s exaggeratedly pokey, with no way to rush. Not that anyone would want to hurry up the process of running out, but … Continue reading grow slow

The birds are playful in the early mornings of spring. I watch them engage each other in tag, diving and leaping. Their chirps are careless joy. They move the morning’s melody, their wings turning the sheet music, but they know it by heart. I want to be a bird.  I think I can hear the … Continue reading spring