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Weekly Contest #295
If you look beyond the parting fog and follow the cobblestone road to the top of the hill, that’s where the old Thistle Manor is. Until we’d piled all our things into the car and left our driveway in Yellow Springs, I had no idea the funeral was for the old man’s grandson. I assumed it was for the codger himself, but my father’s newspaper clipping told of the untimely death of his only grandson, Barley Thistle. The feeling of my heart sinking into the carseat when I read his name on the headline still plagues me ten hours later. Barley, only...
The clock shop has become one of my favorite places in the winter. The shop used to be a house wedged between two other buildings: a coffee shop and a bookstore. Just the thought of someone giving up a house between coffee and books confuses me, but nevertheless, it’s a clock shop now. The ticking fades after being inside for a while, which is good because the first time I was dragged in this place I thought I was going to go mad.A fire burns with warmth in the old brick fireplace and I perch next to it like a bird in the cold. With a book u...
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