The pictures may look the same on screen, but we can no longer legitimately call them “films.”
elizabeth hudson
And Dance by the Light of the Moon
From the living room, which faces east, they’ll see it rise. I’ll bet it’ll be bright. I’ll bet it’ll be beautiful.
How Lovely It Was
Before I was old enough for midnight movies or grown-up parties or Champagne dinners, I spent every New Year’s Eve at my grandmother’s house.
What You Can’t See
It’s becoming so clear to me that real gifts aren’t the ones under the tree.
A Silent Salute
I thought about all the people who carry scars others can’t see. About how we go on anyway, with courage, with strength, with our heads held high.
No Ocean in the Mountains
In 1988, I slapped an Appalachian State University sticker on the rear window of my car and headed west to . . .
Hey, Good Lookin’
On the places where the colorless veil of memory lifts, and the past stares back at us, all dressed up and looking every bit as beautiful as we remember.
The blessing of memory
Editor Elizabeth Hudson remembers Thanksgiving.
A place to walk
Where I grew up, there wasn’t anywhere to go for a walk. I didn’t live in a neighborhood; I lived . . .
