By Kelly Murray The only way to read Flannery O’Connor is while taking a hot bath in a clawfoot tub in an old Victorian home on a warm night in Savannah, Georgia. That’s exactly where I was when I read her for the first time. I was staying at an Airbnb in Savannah’s Eastside district; a gorgeous renovated Victorian home with four bedrooms, a grand staircase, wraparound porch, a sunny shared kitchen, and, yes, a clawfoot tub. Three of them, ...

By Bill Watts My eyes flickered open and I began to wonder, what time is it? Immediately, I remembered it didn’t matter. It’s Sunday. Today is a day for rest. Necessary, too–we had a hell of a night last night. I need more sleep. I rolled over and tightened my eyes, forcing my body to follow my mind into the void. As I began to lose consciousness, dull thuds and thwacks echoed in the distance. Ignore it, I told my ...

By Irene Jagla Not many Tucsonans willingly go to Phoenix, especially during the summer. The running joke is that Phoenix is nothing more than a giant parking lot in the desert. So when I found myself standing in a Phoenix parking lot on a sweltering July afternoon, enveloped in waves of heat emanating from the asphalt surface, I had to smile. I was watching the Copper Queens of Tucson Roller Derby do off-skate warm-ups before a bout with the Skate ...

By Madeline Gressman Nahant’s algae was rotting. The entire town reeked of sea decay, with countless fish and one seal washing ashore, dead. There wasn’t an escape from the odor; it seeped through our walls and weaved in with our clothes. Fans blasted at all hours, swirling the air in circles in a hope to dissipate the unholy smell. Today we were leaving the house for the first time since the algae bloomed. My mother, determined in her love of ...

By Marcia De Sanctis One of the great pleasures of writing a book about France is having the opportunity to give talks about some of my most beloved places. My audience is often a sea of erudite women assembled over petits-fours or roast lamb lunches. At the conclusion, the question always comes, inevitable as the sunrise: “But what is your very most, number one place in France?” My answer is always the same–the truth, but a non-committal one. “Any table ...

By Lana Orndorff New things are scary. Strangers can’t be trusted. Unknown places are dangerous. The echo of these ideas are my personal soundtrack as I search for plane tickets. I click the “confirm purchase” button anyway. The intense screaming of my wanderlust, which sounds similar to a small child that has dropped his pacifier, has managed to drown out the low hum of doubt. Fellow travelers know what I’m talking about. But, for those close to me who don’t ...

By Stewart Lawrence Strolling recently in Washington, DC’s, Rock Creek Park, I had a rare close encounter with one of the Park’s dwindling number of Great Blue Herons. While joggers streaked by, oblivious to its presence, and rush-hour traffic passed noisily overhead, I sat in wordless wonder as the Great Blue, clinging to a half-submerged log, slowly surveyed its domain, then gently peered into the water with its fierce yellow eyes and double-billed javelin beak. The Great Blue is less well ...

By Taylor Hawkins Sarte Moore and his wife, Claudia, were closing in on their destination, a particular spot near a village on the Faroe Islands, a series of sea islands in the remote northwestern region of Denmark’s property. It was closer to Scotland than Denmark, but the landscape was unmistakably Nordic. The high-peaking cliffs, dusted with snow, covered the land mass in both the distance and their immediate surrounding area, creating an otherworldly contrast with vast ocean surrounding the islands. ...

El Panadero de Sayulita: A Musical Vignette from the Jungles of Nayarit, Mexico By Tommy Alexander The song brings me back to a rough coastal road near Sayulita, Mexico — barefoot and wild-haired, walking into town from the highway in the warm, fresh darkness. The way wound through lush tropical forest peppered with occasional shops and houses. As we strolled, we were lulled by the slow, gentle rhythm of crashing waves, only occasionally disturbed by the roar and rush of a passing ...

Editor’s note: We continue our series of short fiction this month with a contribution about a desire to run with the bulls. The path is a bit beaten, but I’d class this as “adventure.” Pamplona By Kyle Owens Phillip poured himself a cup of coffee and went over to the other side of the room, sitting down on the window sill. He felt a light breeze flow through the opened casement windows as he sipped his coffee before he sat the ...