Rachel Rosolina

@rachelrosolina.com

54 Followers 84 Following

Writer. Traveler. Appalachian (East TN). Appalshop alum. Berea College & WVU grad.

Digital painting of a smiling fried egg
Digital painting of a blue yo-yo
Digital painting of a viewmaster toy
Digital painting of the Big Dipper pouring out clouds
Digital painting of a donut with pink icing and multicolored sprinkles asking “what is your favorite dinosaur?”
Gold number balloons for 2026 with a hand reaching for the 6
Digital painting of curtains over a window
Digital painting of a cloudy sunset with a sliver of moon
Digital charcoal drawing of evergreen with a star on top in the snow in front of a sunset
Christopher Anderson’s portrait of Karoline Leavitt in a red pantsuit next to an empty armchair with a wrinkled flag blanket draped over the back.
Stamp of a snowy winter night scene carved in a pink eraser
The Christmas play is less than 3 days away. think I’m going to be great. I know my lines backwards and forwards. Okay, maybe not backwards, but definitely forwards!
Rachel Rosolina On Walking Through My Childhood Woods I do not say mine to the trees I have known since birth as I dip beneath branches so dew dampens my skin, my hair. - do not say mine to the familiar curve of the wooded hillside, cradling me like a cupped palm. I do not say mine to the chestnut on the ridge nor the cinnamon fern by the spring nor the tight tangle of rhododendron. I do not say mine. I say I am yours.
Stamp of a birthday candle carved into a pink rubber eraser
December 11, 1996: We didn't get it easy yesterday, and it doesn't book like we are going to get it today either.
Handwritten journal entry: Yesterday, The whole family went to Arby's yesterday. After everyone had eaten their turnovers, Samuel decided he wanted another milk, so Dad gave him a dollar bill and he went up to the counter to buy it. He came back a few minutes later, just strolling along; a big grin on hís face, his hand stuck out straight in front of him. But, most of all, his hand had the change in it. He was as proud, he had remembered the change. Then Dad commented, "Where's the milk?" Samuel ran back to counter. The rest of us laughed our heads off. He’s crazy sometimes!
It is my Lent to break my Lent, To eat when I would fast, To know when slender strength is spent, Take shelter from the blast When I would run with wind and rain, To sleep when I would watch. It is my Lent to smile at pain But not ignore its touch. It is my Lent to listen well When I would be alone, To talk when I would rather dwell In silence, turn from none Who call on me, to try to see That what is truly meant Is not my choice. If Christ's I'd be It's thus I'll keep my Lent. —Madeleine L'Engle
Confession, by Louise McNeill Oh, we your people are so small we dig the burrow, build the wall To shield us from the sparrow’s fall, And, in our prison, so distrust The clean suggestion of the dust, We guard the hangman, hang the just. We tie our faith to little things: Old cups and teapots, worlds and kings. We anchor ships with linen strings, And, faint of hope, dare not forsake The four-land boulevard to take The Wild road through the marshy brake.
The cover of The Evening Hour by Carter Sickles: a plastic chair surrounded by trash in front of a pond.