Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I thought I was doing the right thing
    all hunkered down and quiet wrapped up like
    an Eskimo.
    I sheltered myself, wrote sonnets on the discarded skins
    of lizards painted wings on the backs of sparrows I told myself stories about
    Sunlight and Water.
    I resisted all my urges to return to the place where I had once
    Caught Fire I was forming new skin with dark blue type written as
    sacred slogans tattooed on these hands that now feel so helpless.

    I took refuge inside a moss covered old growth redwood stump
    You know, the one I asked to be buried in.
    the wind is pounding against walls around me of indescribable green
    the wind is makings sounds of an old woman’s creaking bones
    the wind is muffling a crying woman’s lament
    the wind in an argument with the rigid fallen forest.

    I left this place for a moment and when I was not paying attention the other shoe dropped.
    The wind screamed at me from across the road as if to say “watch out!” but it was too late.
  • Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.