The sun was a memory, the road a straight line swallowed by an empty horizon. This relic of a rental was so old, the radio was one speaker, with five buttons and a dial to select AM stations. Too late even for radio ministry, too early for the farm report; Continue reading
The Light in the Tower
They lower their sails and drop anchor, knowing they will not catch the evening sun bright on the kitchen hearth. Oars creak and echo in the deep green of the peninsular waters, splash and scrape as the dingy is hauled up the pebbled strand.