True Florida Stories
The yarn slips through my fingers with a whisper, my hands following the memory of thousands of stitches looped, checked for errors and redone again. Soft cotton or bamboo works best, the gentle tug of string against the crochet hook providing just enough texture to allow a good grip on the task at hand. Ignore the ache of panic behind my eyes; focus on the stitches … Read moreKnotted thoughts
To know me is to know the color of my bedroom walls. Not the ones in my college apartment, so plastered in torn magazine covers and fading photo booth strips and stolen Home Depot paint swatches that the beige underneath is barely an afterthought. The ones in my South Florida bedroom, where I started high school and turned 18 and drafted my graduation speech in the dead of night … Read moreRaised on sunshine, addicted to the rays
Screen cracked, battery drained and about seven software updates behind, it was easy to tell the end was near for my iPhone 6s for a while, but that fatal fall was the nail in the coffin … Read moreKeeping the past in my pocket
I step lightly up and down the board, speeding up, slowing down, turning, all the while distributing my weight, doing my best to understand the wave’s language … Read moreThe bug
I step lightly up and down the board, speeding up, slowing down, turning, all the while distributing my weight, doing my best to understand the wave’s language.
The three of us are dancing, and I never want it to end.
The surf community calls this never-ending desire “the bug.” And once you get it, there’s no going back … Read moreThe Bug