I always arise as the horizon reddens. Rays of sunshine bending round the global curvature urge me up for yet another day. A gentle awakening.

So many days now, so many urges. Her voice of choice was cool and refreshing, like the sound of water in a rushing stream.

You will write this down. Now. Awaken and rise.

Crisp and cool the days are now. Must be early fall. No, it is my birthday this week.

I was born during the hot and muggy month of August on the Delaware River. The rapids were still running. As were the trolleys. My mother said she brought me home on one. Five cents.

Ah yes, the days are cooler now, the summer's shorter.

Excerpted from John Graves’s novel Life by Chance.

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Isaac spotted two empty seats ahead and tapped John’s shoulder. He didn’t want to miss what would happen in this auditorium today. Two minutes later, his eyes met hers, and Isaac didn’t know why, but it stirred something in him, drawing him closer to her, perhaps an urge to know more. His sense of detachment and high intelligence quickly surfaced, urging him to break eye contact immediately.

And yet he kept staring into those ocean-blue eyes, the swirling whirlpool of emotions hidden in the depths, passion on the ice, and Isaac blinked.

After a few minutes, it was Nancy’s turn, and Isaac’s breath hitched higher unknowingly.

Excerpted from Thrall Conspiracy: Genesis by John Sorflaten

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I told my wife she should embrace her mistakes. She hugged me. I liked it.

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At boot camp, the sergeant made a new recruit sweep the sunshine off the sidewalks in front of the mess hall.

It took the recruit all day.

This military joke is subtle but likely quite accurate.

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Late Thursday night,after five hours of struggling to breathethrough the titanic gurgle in your throat—only once squeezing my handto let me know you heard me,

you abruptly grasped more resolutelyas one might clutch an arm while fearfully steppingfrom raft to boat on turbulent seas

You gripped my hand as if I were a fulcrumpivoting you from one place to another

And then you opened your eyes,looked at me, closed your eyes,and died—

“Oh, sweetheart, you died,”I cried,“I can’t believe you died.”

In silence, more profound than the deepest forest,I lay next to youmy fingers gently running throughthe soft silky hair on your bellyuntil your core was as cold as the rest of you.

Excerpted from Beloved by Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad.

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Find Joy (an excerpt)

Les and I had compiled a quiz of sixty-five questions about our marriage, the years when the kids were home, and old family stories. Riveted, our children wrote fast and furiously, compared notes, and laughed uproariously at every time-worn joke.

The only glitch occurred the second evening. As we were taking pictures in front of the restaurant, Les almost fainted. The boys managed to half drag him across the gaudy flowered carpet to a private dining cove, where I stretched him out on the floor until he had recovered enough to sit up and eat his dinner. He laughed later, “It wasn’t all bad. Our waitress wore a very short skirt.”

Our Big Bash anniversary weekend exceeded all expectations. We put aside what lay behind and refused to ponder what might lie before us.

And we remembered once again that joy and sorrow often occupy the same space.

Excerpted from Abidance: A Memoir of Love and Inevitability by Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad.

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When I Think

When I think of all the waysI’ve tried to say I love you—When I think of all the thingsyou do that make me love you—

The quiet times when we are closethe long and raucous passionthe way we glance across the roomand always feel compassion

When I think—

The words flow forth and tumble downin cascades from my heartand still do not begin to tellhow we can never part

A love like ours—beyond all wordsbeyond our hugs and kissesbeyond the days we carry tightbeyond the reminisces

A love like ours will always livefrom here to the hereafterand every eon find anewour joy, our tears, our laughter

When I think,,,

Excerpted from Beloved by Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad.

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You planted piñon treesone spindly maple in too tighta row

Four children, not as tall asyour new trees, watched with me.Little did we know

how soon, how tallthat trees and childrengrow

Sometimeswe weep thatit is so.

Excerpted from Beloved by Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad.

Tell Me a Story Podcast is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.