The Continuing Saga of Little Stream
A 2022 Story Part 11 You can read part 10 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/little-stream-an…22-story-part-10 Part 11 “Lily Pond?” Little Stream called out again and again without answer into the bright air. Her voice was thin and tired, and it seemed to blow away in the wind. The long, odd journey she’d been on felt like a […]
A 2022 Story, Part 8
A 2022 Story You can read part 7 here: https://www.melindacoppola.com/a-2022-story-part-7/ Part 8 Many suns and moons came and went as Little Stream and Wee Lily Pond tumbled along in the powerful pull of Big River. They were quiet—Lily too exhausted to speak, Little just too sad. Still, both felt glad to have a friend. […]
A 2022 Story, Part 2
Little Stream Part 2* Little Stream could feel herself being pushed and pulled and hurried along in Big River’s watery trajectory. For the first time in her flowing life she lost track of the passage of days. Whole moons or suns got lost when she was tugged under a strong current or squeezed perilously against […]
The Shift
art: Moon Goddess by Melinda Coppola, done in watercolor. On my best days I do dwell in gratitude and I experience most everything as a blessing. My poem, “The Shift”, attempts to give voice to that. The poem, which you can read below, has been published in Writing in a Woman’s Voice Poetry Journal. […]
Time, Place, Classroom
WHEN The world gets so noisy. Too many voices straining, pushing past their natural limits to be heard. Our small ears can’t discern provenance or factuality. Reactions quicken, turning knee-jerk, protective. WHERE There is the place where trees thicken into extended families, root systems entwined beneath the earth. Look for the leafy canopy that forms […]
Prospecting for Grace
Praise The faithful sun, generously stirring energies of Earth and atmosphere, coaxing every green thing towards the rising song of spring. Parents walking with their children outside, smiling and laughing, nodding at neighbors out washing their cars. Quieted streets yielding their usual ruthless noise to melodious birdsong, squirrels rustling in the brush, the wind whistling […]
CHASING A CHEESE BALL MOON
December, Massachusetts This time of year in New England, it’s pitch dark at 4:30pm. I’m working on accepting this gracefully, though I do stray from intention a few times a week into cursing-the-darkness mode. Last Wednesday, shortly after the early blackness descended, I was navigating the narrow curves of North Street, wondering if every town, […]