Welcome to
The Rush Magazine

The dark summer clouds are roaring and hanging. She dreamed again of the white-Walled room…

Join me, my wonder, palm to palm a walk in the wind with me under palms   or pines or firs, such mercy skin to skin, a thirst holding...

Tree leaves clatter on the attic and wake you up this morning, that might be fragile otherwise.   A tile rattles – not in your brain, and...