Kathy at Home Depot warned me: those pretty pink clovers are weeds that steal nutrients. My ex-husband's aunt warned me too—he was just a little boy playing house. Both times, I fell for the pink flowers.
Author: Laura Joy Palma
The Magnolia Trees Bloomed While I Was Waiting for Perfect
I planned to photograph the magnolias when the light was right and the trash cans weren't there. By the time I returned, they were bare. I've spent my whole life waiting for the perfect moment that never comes.
When Why’s Lack Faith
In my brother's theater room, I first considered divorce. Now the firewood from my fallen oak sits uncollected—like my faith, once alive and thriving, now silent with an uncertain future. Why ask why at all?
Why I’m a Perennial, Not an Annual: Lessons from My Neighbor’s Forgotten Daffodils
Impatiens live and die in one season where you can watch. Peonies disappear underground and make you wait. I've been judging my life by what's visible, forgetting that perennials need winters to bloom.
My Students Dream of Money, I Dream of Pink Magnolias and Grandchildren
My juniors write about the American Dream—education, money, good jobs. But I'm chasing the Italian Dream my great-grandfathers brought across the ocean: family dinners at 5:30 and a front porch swing under blooming magnolias.
The Hollow Tree in My Backyard and the Woman Who Climbed on Top
A storm felled the ancient tree behind my house, revealing it was hollow inside. As I climbed its trunk, I wondered: How many of us stand tall while rotting at the base? At least I can still count my rings.
I Used to Be
Thirty-two and sitting on my Virginia porch with red wine and a laptop, I hadn't written in two years. Not since Nashville. Not since the divorce. Tonight, the first writing tingle returned—would it be enough to reclaim what I used to be?
Writer's Growth 