A road trip for a mother and her young son starts out as anything but easy.
I am sharing a story about by grandfather who was a violinist and as a young man lived in China. The story connects his love of music and the country of China to my daughter whom we adopted from China and now plays his violin.
The searchlights from the guard towers were yet not lit, and in the blue of twilight, the garden looked like a tiny village. Bridges of desert wood crossed a shallow pond, connecting sandy peninsulas that stuck out into the water like rounded chins. A squat gazebo sat stoically above a thicket of cattails, standing careful guard over the many rows of watermelon, daikon, and lettuce.
A selection from a group of shorts I’m currently working one. My interest is compiling a collection of intense life defining moments through the lens of fiction. Intentionally abrupt, disruptive, and thought provoking in 1000 words or less.
I’ve sang this ancient song in moments my mouth started singing on its own, and I listened with interest to learn what would come out of it.
When I tell him autumn tastes like apples, he brings me a bright red delicious the next day, pressing it into my hand without a word.
Shanika had known him since she was 12. She always thought that she hated him.
A familiar face entered the bus, bending like a willow tree reaching for water. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a wad of bills, slipping a $20.00 into the fare machine. “Gimme a day pass and keep the change.”
I just saw Dr. Mason. Now I know. It’s all happening too fast. Just two weeks ago, I finished training for our town’s Volunteer Fire Department. That’s when we got a call. My first. A house on fire. Neighbors said there were still people in there. We went in as best we could through the […]
I take Mother’s picture to the dinner table every night. She smiles, still happy. I speak of my sister Nancy and Dad. Nancy’s writing. My mastering a Tchaikovsky waltz.