Gail G. Taylor - SKYVANTARA

PART 1 The air in the back bedroom still smelled like my mother’s lavender talcum powder and stale...

PART 1 Every July a jar of blackberry jam appears on my porch railing. No note, no label,...

PART 1 My sister Clara always stayed put. For twenty-two years, her floral design shop was the anchor...

PART 1 I let my son use my truck after he swore he had landed a night job...

PART 1 The florist called three months after my husband, Vernon, died. She was checking an address for...

PART 1 My daughter was born at two forty-seven in the morning. Seven pounds, four ounces. Healthy. I...

PART 1 I never thought I would care so much about a car at my age, but that...

PART 1 Seven years. Seven years of eating plain pasta four nights a week, putting every spare dollar...

PART 1 At 71, I started pouring coffee at the senior center on Tuesdays because the silence in...

PART 1 I borrowed my husband’s truck to haul mulch on a Saturday. The glovebox stuck, and when...