• writing

    Mountain Laurel

      Her name was Laurel just like the flowers that covered the mountains in the spring. Her face told the story of her life, every wrinkle a new chapter, every line contained a tale. She was old as the mountains and as young as the buds on the trees. On warm days you could see her with her white sunbonnet on flitting amongst the shade trees gathering herbs and roots. At night you could see her carrying a lantern through the trees communing with the wisps and the haints. Everyone said it was just foxfire but I knew it was her. I first meet her when I was fairly young playing…