Forgot your password?

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

Sign in

  • Yes, I could've washed my hand off with the hose outside and dried it with the weathered red dish towel with the eggplant stitched onto it that was draped off the edge of my window box. The dish towel we bought for a dollar in the Mission when we first moved to the city that always reminds me of our beginnings here. But, instead, I walked right passed the towel, leaving it as some newly minted architecture for the spiders and critters to gather upon. I walked passed the rectangular cobalt blue Lego and the barely sharpened yellow pencil that I found while digging in the dirt after too long of me not digging in the dirt. I walked into the kitchen with my feet trailing dirty water prints on the tiles from the puddles that were left post watering. I walked into the kitchen with my hands open like a goddamn offering:

    I will keep things rich. I will keep things messy. I will keep things deep. I will keep things wild. I will keep digging and honor what I find.
    • Share

    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.