Amy Secrist

Tag: children

  • When the Night Comes

    When the night comes and wind swirls past the windows, our little ones roar and rail against bedtime.  Darkly they sulk off to brush their teeth, blowing sighs through their lips, miserable like winter’s cloud-covered sky, empty like its bare landscape.  The day’s done in a snap, the crack of snowman’s brittle twig, his limbs twisted…

  • What Time?

    “Mama, Mama, Mama.” They call like newborn birds. They scramble to get to my criss-crossed lap. They throw silky arms about my neck, downy feathers in the breeze. I stop what I am doing, what I’ve not yet begun, with an eye to future’s empty nest, my raising work all done.  

  • Winter Strawberries

    Backing down the drive we see snow and sleet on the cold stones and grass, evidence of winter’s long-clutching grasp on Ohio. We head to church, the grocery, back to church school, and finally home where we hang coats, store mittens, and wash hands. We dice red onion and cooked chicken, slice black olives and grape…