Author: Tabbitha Easley

It’s a strong coffee kind of Thursday. I was up into the wee hours catching up with an old friend. This is the friend whom I first spotted meandering up to our pink and blue trailer that one summer at the awkward age of 13. She had two younger brothers in tow. We had that … Continue reading cackle

The day winds down and I’m sticky from my labor. My skin is clammy and my hair pasted behind the frame of my fogged glasses. I feel the day’s work in my feet. My gait is different in the evenings. I shuffle a bit with slowed steps that are bearing what feels like twice my … Continue reading turning in

I already feel heavy. Just yesterday I spent a swath of time floating weightless on my back, feet dangling into the warmth of the lake water. I saw clouds and rays through the sliver of a gaze. I listened to life with ears submerged and it sounded like that place between a dream and waking … Continue reading float

It’s just after daybreak and there’s a muted grey in the air. I’m racing against the sun. Who will get there first? I plop myself down in front of a disheveled bed and assess the damage. Crabgrass thru and thru. My archrival, next to squash bugs and Japanese beetles. I hear the cicadas warm up … Continue reading pull

Sunrise slips under the covers and whispers me awake. New day. New mercy. The hens are gleaning and preening, per their usual morning routine. They’re quiet until they catch me in their line of sight. Then it’s all the chatter of a hen house as I sip hot coffee. Some folks read the newspaper; I … Continue reading morning

Waxy fruit squeaky between my fingers. It’s the sound snow peas make as they are being twisted for the table. Berries that droop lower and lower, weighty with juice. It’s a race to catch them before they free fall to the mulch below, or are marred by the birds. Crimson draws all the life. The … Continue reading gain

Lightning bugs arise like steam out of the tall grass. The setting sun is draping gold silk over the trees. It’s serene for a split second. Summer has been kind so far. Merciful. The clothesline is stretched naked but for the pins drooping below. No breeze to blow dry. I don’t mind; I am too … Continue reading catch it

It’s early morning and I spy a spiderweb stretched across the clothes line. It looks like spun silk glistening in the flickering rays. Dancing shadows from leaves and light entertain me. We’re all just waking up and stretching ourselves towards the day. My red songbird perches on the wisteria vine. He’s a male Cardinal with … Continue reading yellow

Early morning rain on the rusted tin roof. It begins as ping after ping then it accelerates, like a dozen children knocking, looking for me. It’s only moments before it’s a finale applause, though the show has just started. The storm is on top of me but I’m hiding in the coop. This is where … Continue reading rain

It’s darn-near perfect outside. What an incredibly mild week of summer we’ve had. A reprieve. I love that word. Its definition is to cancel or postpone punishment. The heat can assault and afflict. I’ve seen it scorch leaves and vines to yellow crisps. And then that’s it – no more producing. I think that is … Continue reading waist high