Writer Leslie Cox

Author: Leslie J. Cox

  • Staceroo – A Tribute

    “It takes a long time to grow an old friend.” This quote is written on a rustic piece of wood that hangs on my family room wall—a gift from my childhood BFF, Stacey. Since the 3rd grade, we’ve experienced life together, even when we’re apart. Some of the best times involve singing with our guitars and…

  • The Silver Cuff

    I lift a silvery piece from Dad’s top drawer. The same drawer I snooped through as a kid to find coins, keys, and whistles. No longer here, he left these artifacts for me to sort through and ponder. A modest piece of jewelry, yet elegant and ornate, the silver bracelet speaks to me of stories…

  • The End is Only the Beginning

    A brief reflection…March 18 is a turning point as we experience the New Moon in Pisces. I invite you to reflect, let go, and renew. March 20 is the beginning of a new zodiac cycle and the start of a new astrological year. One ends; another begins. Most things in life will begin, end, and…

  • Embraced

    When was the last time you were embraced? I mean truly embraced. Where you dropped your head into someone’s chest, And Let Go. You could let go of everything and just Be. In a safe space. No tension. No judgment. No obligation. Where they wrapped their arms around you, Without a word being said. Just…

  • Me and Bobby McGee

    The heat had let up so I decided this was the day to catch up on yardwork. That meant collecting the equipment—edger, trimmer, mower, blower, and supplies—garbage bags, battery chargers, water bottle, air pods, phone, sunscreen, visor. Oh, and the pooper scooper for tortoise poo.  It’s a whole process, yardwork. I usually set aside several…

  • The Work of My Hands

    Read my essay interview – WOW! Q4 Creative Nonfiction Essay Runner Up My hands appear thin and frail, well-worn, and bony at the knuckles, age spots playing tag on my skin like connect-the-dot puzzles. Blue streaks settle beneath the surface, and new wrinkles line up near my wrist, promising not to deepen, though I know…

  • TREE OF LIGHT

    A Braided Essay “What is wrong with me,” she asks.  Her caregiver says, “Many are unwell. I’m diabetic and can’t enjoy sugar. For you, dementia means forgetting some things.”  They pull into the Tastee Freeze drive-through for an ice cream. She gazes beyond the passenger-side window, and points, saying, “I feel just like that tree.” …

  • Palm Walk

    I step outside the conference center to make my way home. One sprinkle, two, then three in quick succession. Rain wasn’t in my plan today. An hour’s drive this morning, followed by eight hours of writing sessions means a longing to get home, especially before dark.  Raindrops dance on my nose, my forehead, and smudge…

  • Mr. Bunny

    I can’t stop watching. I sit by the window, binoculars in hand, journal and pen at the ready. A small bunny sneaks under the gate into my backyard where he waits until tree leaves shade the lawn. When all is quiet, he scampers to the nearest bush to have a look around. He attempts one…

  • The Keen Scents of Millie

    The Keen Scents of Millie What is it that changes the scent of Millie’s fur from one day to the next? All the smells repeat themselves, but not consistently. It’s always a surprise. In thirteen years of Millie’s life, I’ve drawn in eight different fragrances while nuzzling her sweet face, neck, and body. Those long…