A decade or so ago, I wrote this poem and from this sprang the children’s picture book, Where Wildflowers Grow. In this, my siblings and

A decade or so ago, I wrote this poem and from this sprang the children’s picture book, Where Wildflowers Grow. In this, my siblings and
The speedboat chopped through the waves as it raced toward the island. Beth tugged on the strap across Lizzie’s chest. The makeshift harness held firm. Three others
Crimshaw Payne was Crow. Not full-blooded, or even half, but she had enough of her ancestor’s blood in her veins to feel the Great Spirit flow
The bailiff held the door, and Millis shuffled through. He moved with little effort, having learned the precise gait the shackles allowed. The morning sun
To listen to the audio version narrated by Jacqueline Belle click HERE Our children haunt our hearts with joy and agony. We bleed for them and