• fourth lake
    Diary

    Memories Of The 1990’s

    This morning, memories of the 1990’s unfolded before me as I let my mind wander back to those golden years. There’s a comfort in nostalgia, a gentle reminder that amidst the evolving moments of our lives, some remain etched in of our hearts, untouched and evergreen. Lately, as the brisk September wind dances through the leaves, I find myself enveloped in a warm embrace of yesteryears, a tender reunion with the moments that sculpted me into the woman I am today. I cast my memory back to the unforgettable summer of 1996—a time of blooming discoveries and the sweet taste of freedom. That summer held the magical paradox of youthful…

  • firewood near seashore
    Writing

    Whispers From The Campfire: My Journey To Self-Discovery

    In life, there are those fleeting moments, those keyframes, where everything seems to hang in a gentle pause, allowing us to glimpse the deeper truths hidden beneath the surface of our daily lives. As I reminisce about those pivotal moments in my journey, I realize how they sculpted the resilient, independent, and adventurous woman I am today. I remember when I was 14, a tender age where the world seemed a lot simpler, yet immensely complicated. I sat amongst friends, surrounded by the gentle flicker of the campfire that cast elongated shadows on everyone’s faces. The air was thick with promises of everlasting friendship, binding pacts sealed with the innocence…

  • Diary

    Whispers Of The Wind

    From the instant I step onto the dew-kissed grass each morning, I am warmly welcomed by a caress of nature—a harmonious blend of forest scents, brought forth by the gentle summer breeze. To many, the countryside might merely be an expanse of land, but to me, it’s an ever-evolving landscape of life’s simplest yet profound joys. Dawn in the countryside is not just an awakening of the day, but of the soul. It’s a symphony led by nature, with melodies of chirping birds and harmonies of rustling leaves. The skies here don’t just dawn; they blossom, painting hues of ambers and pinks over the sprawling fields and undulating hills. The…

  • Writing

    Seeking Happiness

    Throughout human existence, there has existed a common thread—seeking happiness, connection, and purpose. This yearning is universal to the human condition, yet the paths we carve are uniquely our own. If happiness had a blueprint, my life would be infinitely simpler. A loved one by my side, a single passion to pursue, and endless dreams, and possibilities always on the horizon. This trifecta, they say, is the essence of contentment. But my journey, tangled and unpredictable, often leaves me wondering—where’s the map? I am a woman named Thomas. Born amid the flashing lights and echoing sirens of New York City, I now find myself in Vermont, where nature sings a…

  • Cornerstone Content,  Diary

    The Seasons Of My Life

    Last night, nestled deep within the embrace of my blankets, I found myself lost in a dream on a journey through time. The landscape of my dreams is often a curious one, a theater where the scenes that unfold often transcend the boundaries of waking reality. As I fell asleep, I was transported to the various turning points of my life, watching, as if on a silver screen, the highs and lows, the joys and sorrows. The seasons of my life have never been kind to me, changing not just in weather, but in emotion and spirit. Like trees in winter, I’ve sometimes felt bare, stripped of hope and warmth.…

  • Diary

    Time Is An Irrelevant Social Construct

    In a world driven by schedules, dates, and tangible landmarks of time, I have chosen a different rhythm to which my heart beats. I don’t mark my time with dates, holidays, faded wisdom, or karma holders. Rather, my existence sings with the colors of memories, the whispers of feelings, and the variety of emotions and senses that form my experiences of life. Time is an inescapable linear progression of our reality. But in attempting to make sense of its relentless march, we’ve become attached to the irrelevant social construct of dates, which to most, become anchors in our existence year after year. They tether us to shared histories, common celebrations,…

  • grayscale photography of railway surrounded by trees
    Diary

    I Disappeared Down A One-Way Track

    I returned to the place where I grew up. Everyone I knew has left in search of fairer weather. All that’s left are the faces and the names in faded grade school yearbooks. My past has become a jumbled collection of distant, and often faded memories that feel as if they belonged to someone else in another lifetime. All the memories seem to center around my parents house; the good times, and the bad. I remember looking at the house, and my mom falling in love with the property and saying to the sellers that it was perfect. I remember the time when we were moving in and the house…

  • Diary

    I Embrace Nostalgia

    The gentle hum of life in our little town provided a rhythmic backdrop to my childhood, a melody so familiar, so intertwined with the essence of my being, that it’s almost impossible to separate the two. Streets paved with stories, every corner holding a memory, every nook a secret whisper from the past. I’ve journeyed far and wide in search of new experiences, but the heartstrings always play the same tune, tugging me back to where it all began. The very essence of nostalgia is its intangibility. It’s like chasing the horizon, always just out of reach. It’s a yearning so profound, an emotion so raw, that it transcends time…

  • Cornerstone Content,  Writing

    I Have Been A Lot Different

    I have always been a little different. Even as a young child, when other girls were content with playing princesses and tea parties, I found myself more engrossed in embarking on imagined adventures, climbing trees, and dreaming of the vast, untouched world beyond my backyard. It was a divergence that sometimes isolated me, a tiny ripple in the fabric of conformity that set me apart. Yet, I cherished this difference. I nurtured it. Even then, I understood it as a flame, a flicker of an identity that was distinctively, and blatantly unapologetically, mine. Sky above me, Earth below me, a fiery passion forever burning within me. Thomas Slatin Throughout my…

  • Diary

    The Fire Within Me Still Burns

    I still remember the times in my life when I was at summer camp. Those halcyon days spent running through the sunlit woods, the laughter that echoed across the open fields, and the whispered secrets shared in moonlit cabins. The years I spent there are etched deeply within my heart, and are some of the best memories of my life. The fire within me still burns bright, with flames like memories, that time, in its relentless march forward, has been unable to extinguish. Growing up, I was always a bit different. I was the girl with her head stuck in a book, more at home in the world of her…