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Weekly Contest #109
Going Solo It is lonesome at the check-out after eleven pm. There are rarely more than a handful of visitors sauntering the aisles at any one time and no more than two or three bodies lining up at the register at any given point. They are also in no particular hurry and want to have a friendly short long chat as I click through their few carefully chosen items. I’m fine with it all. Most of my visitors are the oldies, the local oldies, dressed in their fancy PJ's; they pretty much sneak in they are so quiet, cloaked in their colorful array ...
Weekly Contest #105
Molly’s Christmas It was shady and cool hiding under the shrubs outside in the garden this Christmas morning, and it was fun spying into the house watching everyone going round and round in circles and in different directions. Molly fussed tirelessly preparing Xmas lunch and I stopped counting after one hundred the number of times she opened and closed the fridge and the oven and the pantry doors. Her slaving in the kitchen was making me dizzy. And even though the sliding door was closed to the outside, I could still smell the mind- bending...
Weekly Contest #104
The rental My slow measured pace along the wintry shore leaves deep murky footprints in its wet yellow sand and wild angry wind pushing hard against my torso mirrors the faltering seagulls struggling to remain airborne. My thick woolen beanie pulled down tight over my ears blocks little of the ocean’s roar and my loosening scarf and flapping coat need refastening from the relentless thrashing of coastal gale. I ignore dark clouds morphing rapidly into threatening monsters and continue my constrained walking. Alone. Old conversations replay i...
Weekly Contest #103
I take my time opening the box. Inside are my mother’s photos, her life’s story. Even though she was buried two weeks ago now, her voice is still crooning around my ears and the aroma of Greek Pita baking in the oven is still wafting throughout every nook and cranny of the house. How I wanted to hold her just one more time. She needed that always. This split-level brick veneer home I am now standing in alone, built by my parents bare strained hands, is as solid now it was back then, uncrackable, here for me always; for ever. I slowly sit dow...
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