I’ve been a native New Yorker for 36 years. I was born in Queens. We spent endless amounts of time outside during my childhood, running up and down the block. I rarely left the confines of my street. All my friends lived there, so our parents could keep a watchful eye on us. My neighborhood ...

Here I am, staring into space;Taking in every second and minute.There’s that woody smell of books sitting gracefully on old shelves. From the corner of my eye,I see the smiles that split familiar faces. I hear a melody in the voices that once dictated lessons to me.I feel the joy of reuniting with figures who’ve remained ...

It’s the simple things, like the scent of a crayon, that take me back to what I used to know– the mourning dove’s echoing in my bedroom, the sun’s rays shining through my curtains as I wake to the scent of freshly cut grass. It’s the simple things, like the scent of a barbecue, that ...

What will you do this Summer?

November was sunny, yet chilly. The unmistakable scent of Thanksgiving wafted through Aunt Vickie’s home. As soon as one walked through the door, the fresh scent of welcome and hospitality met you. A few things had changed over the years, and yet they held an air of unfamiliarity since this was the first Thanksgiving done ...

Years had collected into decades before Zach and Gina returned to their parents’ unfinished basement. The constant smell of mildew had kept them away during countless visits home. Once a refuge for friends, it now served as a time capsule. A chocolate-colored shag rug segmented the area as a rec room. Two ancient, faded plaid ...

In 1990, Halloween’s enchanting spell Cast its magic over our Southern communityLike a sweet-smelling mist that fills the air, and makes your heart beat fast with pure delight. My sister dresses as a black cat, no surprise,While I take on the role of Madonna, The Material Girl, herself My golden hair in waves, lacy black gloves in placeI ...

A poem to celebrate the changing of the seasons!

A new spring is about to startTen lost winters have weathered my heartAnd mud-larks still sing until dark Bridges of dreams were crossedThe ocean and river spannedWaters of love found Our true love ran deepCascading over hidden rocksAnd sharp stones were softened by sand The winds of time shreddedOur threadbare sailsAnd replaced the canvas sheetsWith ...

There is an old cigar shop on the edge of Cedar Hill Park with boarded windows and doors on the side near the crest. The passersby complain about the eyesore, though the house is unsure of how they or it know about the old cigar shop without signage. Inside the house, the people’s furniture and ...