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Author Archives: Jill Robinson
The beauty of e flat. Melancholy and strong, a tragedy weaving through the forced smile of C major. A shudder and swoon a plunge and leap over the keys, that unlock all the doors that shouldn’t be opened.
The red tulips were, at first, hidden in the weeds and shrubs next to the train tracks. This tangle of brush, all muted browns and dull greens, had taken over the steep slopes in a forgettable arrangement of plant life that blurred … Continue reading
The kids spilled onto the yard, pastel colored shirts flashed down the porch stairs and disappeared from view. Then the creaking of their trampoline and the steady appearance and disappearance of their tiny heads as they propelled each other higher, their … Continue reading
These artists, these writers, these words that I insatiably devour in hopes that I can be full… filled, with their passion, their conviction, their reckless showcase of emotion. Envious, I watch them burn with a need for expression that I … Continue reading
Everyone’s words started to sound like the low-rumbling grumble of a collapsing foundation. Syllables and consonants globbed together forming a vibrating bass tone that blended into the background. All meaning was lost. The occasional surges in frequency or pitch, the … Continue reading
When I woke, he was already rustling around downstairs. I could hear him shuffling his world maps and the distant clinking sound of his coffee cup being placed on its saucer. I lay in bed, enjoying the moment of solitude before … Continue reading