My journal of big words and pretty pictures
A briny wind blew in from the sea bringing a murky fog that blocked out all sunlight. It rolled across scrub covered dunes, coming to an abrupt halt at an unsteady, wooden slat fence. The slats twisted in the wind, as if trying to break free of their binding. The shrill whistle made when the … Continue reading No light, no escape
Heavy aftershocks rocked Somerdale south to Bishop Hills, rattling windows, and cracking sidewalks. Red Olsburg prowled the streets in his heavy-duty, dually pickup using his city council ID to get him access to closed roads and highways. He was looking to claim his share of disaster spoils. What the earthquake didn’t destroy, the residual tremors … Continue reading Aftershocks
Looking back, Widow Winslow wasn’t a very convincing recluse. She’d only come into town Saturday mornings when she’d drive her 1955 Ford Fairlane to the Farmer’s Market where she rarely spoke to anyone other than to ask Satchel Brewster about his heirloom tomatoes or haggle with Natty Crowe for some of his sourdough buns. Sometimes … Continue reading Looking back
The once bright yellow rocking horse seat was all that remained of the playground. Lyle was surprised the useless relic, battered and worn from use and disuse, wasn’t ripped out of the ground when the rest of the park was razed. It was cruel if left as a backhanded memorial for the kids who disappeared, Lyle … Continue reading Playground relic
I go through the motions without thought. It is all so routine, so mundane. Monday is the kitchen, Tuesday is bathrooms, Wednesday is laundry. There are no highs or lows, days pass without excitement, without emotion. They tell me it will get better, that my grieving is a gift. I am to use it wisely, … Continue reading Daily chores
The recliner was pushed so far back that its occupant’s head was lower than his feet. He gripped the armrests to keep from sliding off onto the floor. “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Dr. Holman sat in an adjacent chair, debating with himself whether to toss some of the couch cushions beneath Cyril’s head, lest … Continue reading Daymare
Thin spiral notebook 