This is a true story...My Sunday Morning Offering: Parenthood (or What We Make) If you are not completely selfless Parenthood will teach...

Freedom The tiny bird flies into the sunlight just like the Great Heron who owns the still blue waters and who sometimes follows me on...

When I Had You There was that time when I had you a few minutes or maybe a few days rocking when I rocked or when I simply walked away ...

“Tough times don’t last, tough people do. Remember?” – Gregory Peck The big, black basin was filled almost to the rim with water. Ma had...

There’s a hole in the lining of my mother’s purse - frayed felt and ripped ruche a secret in the silk The gold has faded and the strap...

My Sunday Morning Offering: (Photos by Jerri Lynn Sparks) The Privilege Of Poetry I can tell a bird by its song And a broken soul by its...

(Photo credit: Jerri Lynn Sparks) Sometimes life illuminates at just the right moment at just the right angle quickly but quietly to...

“Do you know what I wish I was?” I asked my son Jared right before we fell asleep the other night. The house was dark and finally quiet...

Your Sun Will Never Speak He lies in bed and breathes and has been doing so for twenty-three years unexpectedly a loss before his...

Happy Friday! I'm so excited to share this new section on my writer's page! I will be periodically profiling Southern writers and I'm...

Coming Soon! I'll be launching a category on my site called "Blue Ridge Girl Interviews..." My inaugural interview will be with a...

“Well I'm looking for a soft place to land The forest floor The palms of your hands” – Kathleen Edwards, ‘A Soft Place To Land’ from the...

A little lusty poem to consider on this rainy day... (Photo Credit: Jerri Lynn Sparks) It’s 2 a.m. and I’ve just bitten into a nice and...

Southern Odyssey The mountain can offer you advice but it won’t do you any good if you don’t follow it. I drove down to North Carolina...

She didn’t waste a single thing saved the bacon grease from her heavy cast iron skillet and stored it in a jar beside the old stove to...

A song for another time... Every week I have what I’ve begun thinking of as Philosophical Sundays with my son Jared. He’s a very...

A poem about birds... Night came and there was poetry - from young hearts that gradually crept up One boy wore soft lavender hair in a...

Life As A Card "Gambling: The sure way of getting nothing for something." - Wilson Mizner There was this game we played in a UCLA...

(Or Why I Learned To Love Solitude And Gave Up Dating) There we sat on the front steps, my mother, my little sister and me, gazing across...

My neighbor growing up baked pies, which she’d let cool on the windowsill that faced the garden between our houses and the little patch...