When Autumn Comes
A poem by Ellen E. Hyatt on autumn’s soft sighs, swirling leaves, and the second-hand finds that become “ours.”
MADE IN SUMMERVILLE FOR THE MODERN SOUTH
A poem by Ellen E. Hyatt on autumn’s soft sighs, swirling leaves, and the second-hand finds that become “ours.”
Will Thompson on a stranger in need, a neighborhood that answered in twenty minutes, and doing good when it is in your power to act.
Tara Bailey on how one new bathroom curtain turned into a house-sized project.
Lorna Hollifield on Wells Rogers, the 13-year-old Summerville dancer proving that big dreams can start in a small town.
Bluebirds, borrowed goslings, three white squirrels, and an osprey heading into the wind: Susan Frampton on what a quiet porch on Lake Moultrie has taught her.
At fifty-four, Tara Bailey was the oldest person at the show — until her daughter dared her to crowd surf. A column about age, nerve, and kids who coax us back to joy.
New Year’s goals rarely survive January. Diana Thompson on grace, purpose, and remembering that we are all works in progress.
A poem by Ellen E. Hyatt: books dropped off on the first Sunday of winter, and one heart-shaped leaf across the windshield.
Despite our advanced age, I hope that we’re still Jenkins Warriors inside. By Susan Frampton I remember vividly when my
I had forgotten how hard it is to get any work done with a new little one in the house.
