Forgot your password?

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

Sign in

  • I made this painting last June, on a damp, chilly night, sitting crosslegged in wet grass and wildflowers, using the last of Alaska’s abundant summer light and my bare, angry hands to smear swatches of space across an innocent canvas.

    I thought my mother had breast cancer.
    I thought I was in love.
    I thought I knew what life wanted from me.

    I thought a lot of things.
    • 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.