The Bluestone Review 2025

Prose

The dogwood tree’s blooms now are purest white tinged with red and pink—the colors of the blood the Savior shed. The tree was honored to bear this reminder of His love. Its four petals are in the shape of a cross, with a dip in each petal to show where the nails went in. And in the middle of each flower is a shape like the crown of thorns. The tree would always bear the mark of the One it had admired so much. When we see a dogwood tree, we can thank God for the Savior, Jesus, and what he has done for us on the cross!

Pretty Posies Linda Hoagland

“Are we there yet?” asked Matthew, my four year old son. “How much longer, mommy?” asked Michael, Matt’s older brother. “Over there, look down the hill,” I said as I pointed to my right. “Can we get out of the car now?” asked Matt. “No, I’ve got to drive all the way down there so we can park the car close to the house. Just stay put until I tell you to get out,” I said happily. I was so glad to finally reach the end of my journey. It was a rough ride down the water rutted driveway to the area in front of the old, weather-worn wooden structure that was known as the family homestead. My mother’s brother, my Uncle Jimmy Allen Thompson, was the occupant of the ram shackled, dilapidated house. “Watch where you are stepping, you don’t want to step on cow flop and there is plenty of it around here,” I cautioned my sons who took off running at full speed. Mike came to a fast halt when he reached the gate of the fence that was supposedly built to keep the farm animals away from the porches and what served as the front and back yards. He reached up to try to push the wire ring from the gate so we could go inside. Mike was only six years old so it was a long stretch for him to push the ring over the post. “Hurry up,” said Matt as he urged his brother to complete his task.

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