These days my life is almost painfully quaint. It crept up on me. I'm trying to pay attention.
Author: lauraeppinger
Laura Eppinger is a Pushcart-nominated writer of fiction, poetry and essay. Her work has appeared at the Rumpus, the Toast, and elsewhere. She's the managing editor at Newfound Journal.
People. Have faces?
I love to take pictures when I can think of it, but I am particularly bad at getting shots of people's faces. Asking for a photo of people pauses conversation and makes us pose instead of acting naturally. I do not like getting my picture taken so I don't want to make anyone else uncomfortable… Continue reading People. Have faces?
Chasing the Wind
After all my adventures and misadventures, I had still never been able to say: All my stuff is in storage and I am living in a state park. This month, that changed. In the Kingkiller Chronicle series by Patrick Rothfuss, students of magic sometimes take a gap year of sorts, to go out and learn… Continue reading Chasing the Wind
It is essential to lose track of time.
Sometimes. And I know this is a luxury. (It shouldn't have to be!) But there is joy and healing found in losing two hours to cross-stitch, without looking at a phone or a clock. In the vintage radio and computer museum, when suddenly you're hungry and your knees ache from standing and you realize three… Continue reading It is essential to lose track of time.
TRASH. (And please don’t buy that thing!)
This is a post all about trash, but I hope you see that it’s also about much more. All photos in this post are pictures of debris I picked up off the coast of Island Beach State Park in NJ, after only about two hours of cleanup. (Because I am not so keen on housing… Continue reading TRASH. (And please don’t buy that thing!)
Progress
My life is about to change in leaps and bounds--but I can't make any announcement yet. Soon. (I hope!) What I can do is stitch. And learn. And clean off my deck so I can sit in the sunshine. I can watch projects unfold--over weeks and months, little by little. I learned felting I am… Continue reading Progress
Shades of Whitman: Philadelphia, PA
I think I figured out why April is National Poetry Month: in April, all the trees bloom suddenly, and every year I am surprised. I give up, assume it will always stay winter, and then when I least expect it the world explodes with color. And pollen. I'm so dizzy with pollen or zonked by… Continue reading Shades of Whitman: Philadelphia, PA
