by Marci Madary My desk faces the back of our third-floor condo where I frequently gaze over my computer screen into the branches of all the surrounded trees. Neighbors across the alley took down a grand oak in their backyard. I don’t know if it was sick or damaged by the wind or simply an irritant as the homeowners are strangers to me. But for the last three days I have watched men and a hydraulic lift with ropes and pulleys cut apart the tree: branch by branch, limb by limb

by Marci Madary Worry wakes me at four in the morning. Worry walks with me and my dog. Worry refuses to wash off my hands, even with soap. Worry waits for the moment between thoughts, to rise and roil, snarl and snag. It creases the skin in the middle of my eyebrows and wearies my shoulders. Worry tenses my stomach and tightens my chest. Grabbing my ankles, it pulls me to bloodied knees. Worry wanders over and slides under my locked door. It smacks my soul when I am not looki