Author: martist

Laundromat

Sometimes inspiration comes from some odd places. I was fascinated by this woman, who would NOT PUT HER PURSE DOWN. It was like it was some vital piece of her and if she dared to set it upon the dingy tile, her soul would surely be lost. I watched her struggle with that comforter for […]

Creek Fire

The forest of my youth is burning. Burned. Twelve hundred miles away I am perched on my front step, peering over a tiny screen and an even tinier map. Barely discernible roads are painted red. I can not determine how much I’ve lost.  The dock where I first held hands with a boy. The family […]