Mani Padme Catvarah

Nini stretched high toward the sky to bask in the sun and sing in the rain. At night, she wrapped herself tight beneath the sparkling universe. In the morning she  waited for the bees and eventually, the seeds, and finally, the Great Blue Heron himself. He landed in her garden one day, had a meal, then flew far away. Nini’s first child was born 357 kilometers west, in Louisiana.

Tallahassee, FL. Copyright 2014 Laura Mauney

Mani Padme Catvarah

Nini stretched high toward the sky to bask in the sun and sing in the rain. At night, she wrapped herself tight beneath the sparkling universe. In the morning she waited for the bees and eventually, the seeds, and finally, the Great Blue Heron himself. He landed in her garden one day, had a meal, then flew far away. Nini’s first child was born 357 kilometers west, in Louisiana.

Tallahassee, FL. Copyright 2014 Laura Mauney

Each morning, I take the dogs out for our 0.9 mile walk through the little pocket neighborhood, usually between 6 & 6:30 AM. Lately, as summer fades, I’ve found myself walking in the dark. As we wend around the corner from the cul de sac, headed for the primary loop, I see ghost like figures ambling about silently under the streetlamps at the intersection, some with their faces lit up blue as they study their smartphones. The dogs and I pass and head up what passes for a hill in this part of the world, 230 feet above sea level. Moments later we are swept by long headlights. We pull off and wait. The school bus inches past and glides away. I feel protective of the children, as if my clock is their clock. If I don’t see them there under the streetlamps in the mornings, I will worry.

Tallahassee, FL. Copyright 2014 Laura Mauney

Each morning, I take the dogs out for our 0.9 mile walk through the little pocket neighborhood, usually between 6 & 6:30 AM. Lately, as summer fades, I’ve found myself walking in the dark. As we wend around the corner from the cul de sac, headed for the primary loop, I see ghost like figures ambling about silently under the streetlamps at the intersection, some with their faces lit up blue as they study their smartphones. The dogs and I pass and head up what passes for a hill in this part of the world, 230 feet above sea level. Moments later we are swept by long headlights. We pull off and wait. The school bus inches past and glides away. I feel protective of the children, as if my clock is their clock. If I don’t see them there under the streetlamps in the mornings, I will worry.

Tallahassee, FL. Copyright 2014 Laura Mauney