Bud and the Wild Gifts

He loved teaching us about the land, and we listened with our whole hearts.

The River Shells

Now I know Joe brought the ocean to us. We’d never been. He inspired our hearts to wish and receive.

He wore those slippers until they split at the lip, wore down the heels to holes.

Amethyst and quartz, wildly out of place in the most magical way—a glitter pile of hope beneath the rain spout.

Haunted jewelry. It had an upswing in the ’60s and ’70s. I wonder how many of those rings we found were authentic— and came with ghosts.

My mother kept a butter-colored flower girl of glass, frosted skirt, in the hutch on display.

He peeled the skins from our tiny oranges and handed them over. We marveled at their perfect fit in our paws.

I couldn’t stay away from her, no matter how her influence hurt. She was all I knew of acceptance and friendship.

When I was a young girl, I felt safest in the car—going everywhere and nowhere.

I learned to call it the soul bell. She still rings when something resonates profound.