writing – Page 3 – ASHLEY WILSON FELLERS

July 29, 2015A // W // F

Speechless

I’ve built my life around words: planted them like seed, panned for them like gold. I’ve gone out into green valleys and collected words like rainwater, storing them up for seasons of drought. This is what my kind of people do. But. There are days when words feel too small for me — a poor, […]

July 20, 2015July 20, 2015A // W // F

Glimpses of Goodness on the Road

This weekend, I drove all the way across Virginia, west to east. I drove alone, on Route 460, a narrow ribbon of country road that sometimes seems to roll on forever — out of the mountains and into the hills, past sleepy farms where cows graze, their coats gleaming like black satin. Since I was […]

May 20, 2015A // W // F

Coming Out of the Quiet

It’s been awhile since you saw my words here — almost a month since my last post. In real life, I’ve been busy … sometimes even frantic. But in this space I’ve let the silence fall like a curtain, heavy and thick. I needed that silence. On the heels of my last series — Same […]

February 28, 2015February 28, 2015A // W // F

The Way of Escape

You find yourself in a windowless room — the walls crumbling plaster, gray. (I know this because I am there too). You don’t know how long you’ve been there, but you know it’s been a long time, because there’s a hunger in the back of your eyes: for color, light — carmine, sun-yellow, cobalt. Your body is stiff, hunched, the bones nearly bent. The ceiling is […]

January 19, 2015A // W // F

A Strange Little Almost-Poem About Manholes (Yes, Really), Left on Top of One in the Middle of a Field

This post is part of the Secret Messages Project. Every day for thirty days, I’ll leave my words in places where they might be found — or might never be found at all. I hope you’ll join me. * A few weeks ago, a wrote an almost-poem about manholes. I kid you not. I found a particularly […]

January 18, 2015January 18, 2015A // W // F

A Reminder to Myself, Hidden in the Boulders at Wind Rock: Day Seventeen

This post is part of the Secret Messages Project. Every day for thirty days, I’ll leave my words in places where they might be found — or might never be found at all. I hope you’ll join me. * We drive south, past the New River Valley into Giles, where the road climbs up and up […]

January 17, 2015May 8, 2019A // W // F

a promise, left on a park bench in the frost …

…I had it already prepared: the words inked on the shiny green undersides of six acuba leaves, with their brilliant gold speckles. I stuck a hand in my pocket and ran a thumb over their leather skins.

Yes. This place. This…

January 15, 2015A // W // F

An Almost-Poem, Left Under the Williamson Road Overpass (and also: What I Talk About When I Talk About Poetry): Day Fourteen

This post is part of the Secret Messages Project. Every day for thirty days, I’ll leave my words in places where they might be found — or might never be found at all. I hope you’ll join me. * It’s been awhile since I shared anything here that approached what some people call by the name “poetry.” […]

January 10, 2015A // W // F

An Invitation, Left on a Picnic Table on Top of Mill Mountain: Day Nine

This post is part of the Secret Messages Project. Every day for thirty days, I’ll leave my words in places where they might be found — or might never be found at all. I hope you’ll join me. Have you ever hoped for a sign? Me, too. Yesterday, though, I felt a different kind of hope — […]

January 6, 2015January 6, 2015A // W // F

Instructions, Tucked Between Two Books in the Public Library: Day Five

This post is part of a series. To read more, click here. * First things first: English teachers of the old-school Orthodox variety, gifted literary critics, and serious professors of poetry and the analysis thereof: for your own sanity, please avert your eyes. Okay then… * A few weeks ago, I had a funny conversation with my […]