The day I met you, you were feeding the pigeons. It was a cold day, and your breath made a cloud around you, the kind of mystical image that comes to mind when describing a beautiful elf or similarly stunning being.

I saw your eyes piercing through the fog that your breath had made as you met my eyes.

I nearly dropped the coffee I was holding, but the autumn special, nutmeg and cinnamon, is two ...

Letters were once sent by lovers

From the beaks of pigeons.

Pages upon nutmeg-colored pages were written

Of loving words and promises.

Now simple texts

Without any meaning

Are sent without the passion

Or love that once raged.

People once declared they

Loved each other from the moon and back,

But you say you only love me

From the coldness of Antarctica....

this date is going

so horribly wrong

when the pigeons

flew through

the air,

they pooped upon

our “fancy” meals

(but to

be honest

they did not

taste great,

i would suggest

more nutmeg)

so while you smile

muscles in your

face straining to

look pleasant,

but we both know

we would rather be

anywhere

but here,

personally

i’d go for

antarctica...

Saturday mornings are my favorite. Nancy and I go for a walk around the park and end at our favorite cafe on the edge of town. Every Saturday. She knows how much I need order and peace in my life. The same routine every week, the gentle spring breeze rustling the vibrant green leaves in the park- it’s medicine for my soul. My rusted, rotten soul.

__

_ Blood. so much blood. Screams of agony f...

“Damn it’s colder than Antartica out here,” Daddy said.

“Ohh you said a bad word,” I said.

Daddy doesn’t hear me. My words are carried away on the January wind. My words are crushed in the squish of the New Year’s Day crowds on Two Street. Walking fast, Daddy is weaving through the people. My hand in a red mitten is tight in his big hand. I can see is legs. This is our time. Every since I was a ...

The moment I saw the pigeon, I knew my life was about to change.

I was walking home from school, kicking at loose gravel, my mind stuck on the latest disaster—Ms. Phillips had assigned a group project. As someone who barely tolerated small talk, the thought of forced collaboration made me want to disappear into the Antarctic.

And then, there it was. A pigeon.

Not just any pigeon, though. This o...

Staring out her window, Lyra sighed at the pigeons once again taking over her Parisian balcony. She thought she had seen pigeons during her childhood in London, but she was wholly unprepared for the sheer number of pigeons Paris saw daily. Through the flock of pigeons, she saw the Eiffel Tower. It was standing as tall and impressive ever while she was in her apartment, as unsteady and insecure as ...

You know, there are so many words that we use. Some words we just use all of the time without even thinking about using them. Some words we never use because we never know them. Some words we use sometimes for some things and sometimes not at all. Words are something that are apart of what makes us human, of what makes us unique, of what makes us who we are. Words are clearly important. And I am s...

The blizzard had finally ran its course. A hundred and twenty days of wind, white outs and delays. But that was the nature of Antarctica, and the delicate balance of transportation one of the least hospitable places on earth.

I trugged through the snow, bundled up in so many layers I could barely walk. And yet I could still feel the bitter wind bit through my clothes.

The sun peered through the da...

The pigeons were in the church’s courtyard again. I shuffled across the stone tiles, ignoring their piercing stares, back into the rough forest at the edge of town. A couple minutes more and I was at my cabin door. One pigeon had followed me; I looked away as I closed the door behind me.

With a sigh, I set the bag down on my counter. The tarot-reader gave me salt, nutmeg, and a little pamphlet o...