On Loma Vista Street, my writing space started out on a desk my father-in-law had found in his Johnstown, Pennsylvania, alley and refinished. I pushed it up against a window in the corner of our bedroom in 2002 and wrote nearly every day, a lifetime of words finally...
Part II of “May-December at Arcosanti” A few nights later, Nate stood on the lanai watching the stars come out. He would never get tired of this scene. He filled his lungs with fresh night air. But he didn’t feel...
A bell someone had hung in the olive trees tinkled in the breeze. Nate sat in the grass cross-legged with his palms open and relaxed, but he wasn’t meditating. It was more of a pose—waiting to receive what the universe had for him. His gaze raked over the rocky gorge...
Superstitious Friends By Ann Lee Miller From the end of my street, I see the Superstition Mountains run skyward, Stalwart sisters, draped in haze and the color blue— A hue I’ve never seen them wear. After decades of daily acquaintance, their beauty...
El Pintor, the newspapers called him—an unschooled muralist—never Paul, the guy who lived in his wiry body beneath a thatch untamed hair. Thirty-six years old. He made a living off his art. Damn lucky, his buddy Axel called him. Axel who’d married Mara when he wasn’t...
