We speed, Mauree and I, through the streets of Seattle in an ambulance.
Trickster Laughs by Staci Mercado
Twelve miles from the Montana border, the car quit.
Twelve miles from the Montana border, the car quit.
The dance hall was like a cave, the dim light obscuring its guests.
I realize I am middle-aged when I meet Destiny.
After the divorce, my father teaches me how to braid bread.
I had joined a group of about 20 people, mostly archaeologists, at a location we all promised not to disclose.
We’re always pleased to share updates from our family of contributor-alumni and HippoCamp presenters. Here’s what we’ve collected between our last update now; most of these were submitted via our form, but we also try to keep an eye for exciting news you share on social and your own newsletters. But we can’t catch everything,…