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Weekly Contest #198
Mr. Gray August is the longest month of the year when you are twelve years old. The longest thirty-one days when you are waiting for the summer to end and your best friend to come home from her family cottage in Maine. And those last days of August seem to stand still as you wait and wait for the mailman to deliver that all-important postcard that will announce your fate for the coming school year. I spend these summer mornings sitting on the front steps in the sunshine. The building that I live in is quiet because everyone’s at work. I...
Weekly Contest #86
Springtime April: The calendar says spring. But the Boston weatherman has the true story: rain, sleet and even some, yes... snow across the higher elevations. I know how the calendar lies. I’ve learned a few things about spring weather during my thirty -eight years of gardening. Bean seeds that rotted in the drenched soil after the Mother’s Day Flood. Tomato and pepper seedlings blackened overnight by April’s icy fingers. So I practice patience and spend drizzly afternoons snuggled up on the sofa reading seed catalogues and making wis...
Weekly Contest #54
The Wedding Morning As a little girl, Peg remembered standing beside her father at the bathroom sink, his lone face reflected in the square mirror. She watched as he added a bit of water to his shaving mug and used the brush to whip up a soapy lather that he spread over his ruddy checks, his neck and chin. The long fingers of his right hand wrapped around the handle of the straight edge razor; his left hand pulled the skin taunt, smoothing out the deep lines of his face. And then, with small quick strokes, the blade swiped through the soa...
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