In Laura’s Words

I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch black corner…to provide relief for myself and others. It’s the light that I am looking for. And the wonder it illuminates.
May my words land in your heart.

yours, Laura

Substack

I’m Moving my Writings to Substack

You’ve been wandering through the archives of my heart—years of ink and inquiry gathered here like driftwood from a long, steady tide. It is a beautiful thing to look back at where we’ve been, but I’d love for us to step into the “now” together. I’m moving the conversation over to Substack, a space where we can breathe a bit more deeply and engage in the real-time rhythm of our lives. If you’ve found a home in these words, I invite you to join me there; let’s continue this practice of seeking, truth-telling, and finding our way home to ourselves, one post at a time.

Click here or on the button below to follow along on Substack.

Break Me In, Montana

Break Me in, Montana by Laura A. Munson I begged for this. This house. This land. This time. This husband and these children. I begged to know a place season for season. To use last summer’s spent perennials as winter mulch. To rake it off when the Lenten roses poke...

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My Lover, LA

My Lover, LA by Laura A. Munson I love my children. I love my husband. I love my mother and deceased father. Sister and brother. Every person on my Christmas card list. Two dogs, two horses, cat, and pet rat—love ‘em all. I love Montana too—my twenty acres and the...

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Mother Bear at the Plaza

Mother Bear at the Plaza by Laura A. Munson I was reared for walking in and out of places like New York’s Plaza Hotel. But I live in Montana now and sometimes I forget how to be that girl. That girl having her first tea at the Palm Court in low riding white tights and...

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The Pack Rat Ate My Patagonia

The Pack Rat Ate my Patagonia by Laura A. Munson I have never wanted to kill something before. Trap it live, and then shoot it. Or drown it in a glacially chilled grave. That thing—with the pretty little well-appointed pink nest, with its self-important aroma and...

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Inversion

Inversion by Laura A. Munson It’s lonely in February with just one woodpecker and a few chickadees against the grey. They call it inversion. Our valley is flanked by the Whitefish Range—foothills to the Rockies-- what in summer looks like a towering garden wall. Then...

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Raven

Raven by Laura A. Munson I know a woman who frequently finds hearts. In rocks, in the dish suds, in the shape of manure clods. She’ll say, “Laura! Come here.” And I’ll know that I am about to see some mystical arrangement of two curves, cleavage, and a point. I know...

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Spring-blind

Spring-blind by Laura A. Munson I have not noticed spring like this before. Perhaps this owes to the fact that this spring has been a long one—two years, more or less. It began with the Snow Geese migration last April which I drove five hundred miles round trip in one...

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The Moral of the Morel

Originally published in "The Sun" literary journal Now Booking our 2016 Fall Haven Writing Retreats! September 7-11 (full) / September 21-25 (one space) / October 5-9 (still room) / October 19-23 (still room) The year before I moved to Montana, a guy shot another guy...

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Inheritance

Inheritance by Laura A. Munson When life is long, we take off our gold bracelets and put them into the back of a low drawer. When life is long, we move far away from that drawer. We curse the drawer. We curse the bondage of gold bracelets, the parents who bought them...

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