Credit: Dreamstime.com
The yard was covered, leaves bright yellow, and wet from last night’s rain. Randall shook his head, tipped his cap to scratch his balding pate, and looked up to the sky. No help there. Rainclouds fisted up again overhead. Continue reading
I dreamt last night of snow.
It lay,
A thin blanket over vibrant late summer.
Silent white, still as death,
Satisfying in its containment.
Hananah had never before gone this deep into the fen, but she wasn’t worried. Eavan had promised to meet her at moonrise, that they might nip over to the castle and rob its treasury. The villagers at the foot of the mountain were in sore need of a replenishment of funds. Continue reading
I look for her in the living room. The Pendleton blanket is folded and laid neatly on the back of the overstuffed couch (my sister’s choice). Mother’s hand-crocheted throw rests gently on the seat of our childhood rocking chair (my choice). Dust motes swirl in the half-light of this cloudy November afternoon, whispering rumors of light snow mirroring their desultory dance. It’s plenty cold outside those triple-pane windows. Continue reading
He looked like death warmed over. That is, if death warmed over was a once-in-a-lifetime, luscious lothario. Lean and broad-shouldered at 6’3’’, he towered over my compact 5’3”. His eyes gleamed intense as the full moon above, his collar-length hair swept back in lines of seafoam white over ocean dark. Still good, even though a little worn around some edges and drooping a little in others; well worth the awkwardness of one more date. Continue reading
The hare pulled a watch from his pocket, stretching it as far as the fob allowed.
“Drat!” he wheezed, at the lateness of the hour and the inconvenience of having once again misplaced his pince-nez. Where in the world was that girl? Continue reading
“Where is it?” she lifted her face, seeking a clue in the morning breeze. So many possibilities; the winter had been too long. She clawed at the ground furiously, dirt embedding itself under her nails. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
A.I. Art and Poetry
Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
Chel Owens
Live music in St Paul Minnesota
pagan songs & tales
Poets Pub
Writing/Tales + Tails + Culture + Compassion
my views.. my way
Challenging the barriers of the way we define reality
Stories and thoughts about being a queer girl geek in the 21st Century.
Valley 