Long after winter has ended, hating on Christmas remains popular sport, as much a holiday tradition as eggnog and overspending.
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Posted inEditor's Pick
I Was Pregnant, and Then I Wasn’t
The aftermath of a miscarriage, immediate and raw: “It was an animal sadness born of the worst kind of disappointed expectation. The future stretched out before us, one torturous minute at a time. The sadness lived in me as an ache in my stomach, and it’s with me still.”
Posted inEssays & Criticism, Nonfiction, Story
The Handgun and the Haunted Range
Justin Quarry hunted for himself, and a connection to his late father, with the unlikely inheritance of a firearm.
Posted inNonfiction, Quotes, Uncategorized
Battling the Odds Against Wolf Reintroduction
Following endangered Mexican gray wolves from their captive birth to their release in New Mexico.
Posted inEssays & Criticism, Nonfiction, Story
How Much is Too Much to Save a Dying Cat?
A series of losses prompts s.e. smith to wonder why, if it’s inevitable, we tend to view death as failure.
Posted inEditor's Pick, Essays & Criticism, Nonfiction
Finally Seeing the Forest for the Trees
After a spate of trauma and loss, Maura Kelly retreats to the Hudson Valley where she is converted into a ‘nature person.’
Posted inNonfiction
I Think, Therefore I Am Getting the Goddamned Epidural
On midwives, metaphysics, and intensely natural births.
Posted inCurrent Events, Nonfiction, Story
Bundyville Chapter Four: The Gospel of Bundy
The Bundys have found momentum in the Trump era. Ryan Bundy is running for governor and politicians are joining the Bundys at public events. They say they’ll do “whatever it takes” to defend their rights.
Posted inEssays & Criticism, Nonfiction
My Date with Hollywood
Monica Drake recalls a brush with fame, when a famous actress took an interest in making a movie from her novel.
Posted inEditor's Pick
Is Infidelity A Search for Identity? On Coupling: An Inventory
On a friend’s porch, someone has left behind a deer skull, beautifully intact, antlers and all, inside a wood crate set up against the wall. I consider the dead skull, the solid antlers, which won’t age for ages, which won’t die. The hollow sockets where eyes once looked for grass, the empty caves where a […]
