In the Vines

by Shannon Kirk

What I suffer is the insanity of being in love. The type of insanity for which there is no cure.

“Boston weather is bipolar: hot one day, cold the next, high, bright sun one minute, biting chill the next. Spring is a selfish bully, clawing to hold more time away from our beloved New England summers.”

I’m not an atheist. I’m just troubled by the way money and power motivate the undercurrents of churches.

Insanity is a well we might fall into, and with luck and hard work, we might climb out.

It never mattered how old I was—when my mother said she loved

me, I was a child again, safe and full, and my heart felt strong and warm. Nothing in the world could harm me for the blessed seconds around the bubble of time when my mother said she loved me.