Writer Leslie Cox

Tag: writing

  • Healing Hands

    Last week, I indulged in a much-needed 90-minute, full-body, deep-tissue massage. As the therapist focused on my shoulders, back, neck, arms, hands, legs, and feet, I felt gratitude for her skilled hands. And though I tried clearing my head during that luxurious time, I couldn’t help but think of all the various massage experiences I’ve…

  • Bella and her Brood

    June 3rd Today is the day. Exactly fourteen days after hatching. Freedom. May 3rd Bella and Bobby set up their nest. Nice and cozy, in a safe cool place high on a back-porch pillar where no wind or rain could find them.  May 8th Bobby left Bella to rest there. She watched as he flew. …

  • 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…

  • 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…

  • 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…

  • Kid Table

    I’m a table. Not the kind you would imagine. I’m tiny. And two tiny chairs snuggle up against me most of the time.  I wasn’t complete when I first arrived at the lady’s front porch. The box that held me was so dark and snug, I could barely breathe. But soon, the lady took me…