Author: Alyce Faye Bragg

WHEN THE SONG OF THE ANGELS IS STILLEDBy Howard Thurman When the song of the angels is stilled,When the star in the sky is gone,When the Kings and the Princes are home,When the shepherds are back with their flocks,The work of . . . Read More

How in the world did I ever get in this shape? I was going along comfortably in my holler home when disaster struck. I had developed pleurisy after recent surgery and was taking Phenergan along with codeine and attributed my stumbling walk and slurred . . . Read More

November has left us, but in a last good will gesture she is sending a few warm days to welcome December. This is the bridge between autumn and winter, and as we cross over it, we leave behind the brown, tattered remnants of November and greet the . . . Read More

The leaves have fallen off the mulberry tree; one by one they drifted down to cover the ground with their autumn gold. They clung tightly to the tree through the wind and snow, but the frost last night sounded their death knell. . . Read More

GOD’S WORLDO world, I cannot hold thee close enough!Thy winds, thy wide gray skies!Thy mists, that roll and rise!Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag,And all but cry with color! . . Read More

“Fog on the hill brings water to the mill”– a favorite saying of my mother’s that has proved true many times. A misty white shroud enfolds Pilot Knob, with tendrils of fog spiraling skyward. . . Read More

“The charm of the goldenrod” is spreading across our hills, reflecting the rays of the early autumn sun and enticing the leaves to turn yellow also. Actually, there are 29 species of goldenrod in our state and have an undeserved reputation . . . Read More

It was a splendid pre-fall day when my sister Jeannie and I journeyed to Ravenswood to meet our other two sisters who live in Jackson County. It was a spur of the moment plan to get together for a sibling picnic, and the trip up I-77 was pleasant. . . Read More

August rushes by like a desert rainfall.A flood of frenzied upheaval,Expected,But still catching me unprepared.Like a matchflameBursting on the scene,Heat and haze of crimson sunsets.Like a dreamOf moon . . .  . . Read More

A yellow swallowtail butterfly perches on the top of the pink Rose of Sharon bush and sways with the wayward breeze. She seems to be surveying the landscape and wondering if summer is truly on its way out. . . Read More

We awakened to the soft pattering of rain on the roof, a most welcome sound after the violent thunderstorms and accompanying winds of the past few weeks. In spite of all the stormy weather, the ground was crying out for water. . . Read More

Most of us agree that it is more fun to read about “the good old days” than to actually relive them. Almost all of our state was hard hit Friday evening by the unusual windstorm that weather forecasters are calling a “derecho” . . . Read More

This is a glorious morning. I feel sorry for folks who sleep late and miss the beauty of the day unfolding. There is a cool breeze that picks up the fragrance of blooming flowers and wafts it across the yard. . . Read More

They came to the hills of West Virginia with enthusiasm and high hopes. He was coming back to his roots, as the old farm had been in his family since 1903. . . Read More

The waters of William’s River still run swift and cold. It swirls around huge boulders, cresting white and foaming, as it rushes onward. The immense rocks that throng the river’s banks and inhabit the river itself look as if they had been . . . Read More

The nostalgic fragrance of lilacs drifts through the house, as the last sprays are salvaged and placed in a vase on the table. This old-fashioned flower brings back long-ago memories of Grandma in her long white apron and sunbonnet. . . Read More

The voice of spring has awakened our hills after the deep sleep of winter. She whispered first to the songbirds, and they gathered their flocks together and returned to our land. . . Read More

March, with her changeable moods and capricious ways, exits our hills today, making way for dainty April and the fullness of springtime. The month of March was unusually warm, prompting some folks to jump the gun and begin gardening. . . Read More

There’s a month in each year,That always seems drearFor thirty-one days or so,But look at it rightAnd all will seem bright,And jolly wherever you go. For March is a jolly old month you know,Jolly as jolly can be;Sometimes it’s . . . Read More

HYMNS OF SPRINGBy Betty J. BanksSkeletons of winter,Their blood pooledIn their feet,Their bony armsRaised to the sky.Pray for resurrection.Sol’s breath warms,The earth stirs.Sleeping . . .  . . Read More

THE DIFFERENCE I got up early one morningAnd rushed right into the day,I had so much to accomplishThat I didn’t take time to pray.Problems just tumbled about meAnd heavier came each task,“Why doesn’t . . . Read More

February has always seemed like a dreary month to me. Not quite winter and not yet spring, it stretches between the two like a dingy, worn-out blanket, frayed and full of holes. . . Read More

The tantalizing fragrance of sassafras tea floats through the house today, while the dark, robust tea bubbles on the stove. No better potpourri can be purchased, and in my opinion, no better tea can be brewed. . . Read More

The days are growing shorter, and the fields are growing browner as late fall makes its way through our hills. Rather than mourn the passing of the dead cold year, we can lay her down to sleep, cover her with a blanket of brown leaves and a coverlet . . . Read More