Kate Ryan

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?