Down they come, twirling, sun-sparkling, lilting in sudden gusts. Daisies dancing in summer–except it’s winter. The falling flowers are snowflakes. Continue reading “Good Dog!”
Snowmageddon! Stay home if you don’t have to go out! Feels like double-digit negative temps! Treacherous conditions! Freezing drizzle! Mega-storm sweeping the continent, laying waste to everything in its path!
She switched off the tv, powered down her computer, snapped off background radio reports. She believed the footage: Continue reading “Attention/Protest”
Step One: 99 word flash, to include “beans”
It was definitely not what I was expecting. I thought we’d celebrate Bucky’s return from her Antarctic dogsled adventure with a lavish meal, and go shake our butts at a dance club. Maybe not that last one. Bucky’d only been home for two weeks.
What I saw was Bucky on the couch in sweats and wool socks, legs folded underneath her, spoon dipping into a can of baked beans.
I hid my dismay, but not well enough.
“When you’ve been living off a dogsled, a can of beans is a feast.”
I sighed, grabbing a spoon from the kitchen. Continue reading “Rodeo Event #4: Bucky’s Baked Beans, A Love Story with Two Spoons”
She rinsed the last dish and set it in the drainer. Days had again grown short, this season and over the years. The leaves, crisp from a day’s rain and evening’s temps, were barely visible out the window. Her silhouette softened in its reflection; the living room light glowed orange behind her. Continue reading “An Old Romance”
A thin blanket over vibrant late summer.
Silent white, still as death,
Satisfying in its containment.
Unexpected, not unprecedented. Lucy opened the cabin door to a wall of snow. Stores, as well as spirits, were running low. Something had to liven the hard tack and rabbit stew, hairy root vegetables and pale wrinkled peas. Continue reading “Summer Memory in Winter”
Crystal bottles stood before her, hip shot in relaxed groups. Scented soldiers, they had no expectation they’d be called to order; Treena preferred sweatpants to skinny jeans, books to bodies grinding on a dance floor. Continue reading “Cure for Cabin Fever”
Winter sun slides beneath the treeline, crosses the final lavender mile home with strips of deep purple, pale magenta. Neither warms this sub-zero trek. Progress marked by the flash of slender ski tips through new-fallen snow, my rasping breath through a strip of wool scarf. Continue reading “Heading Home”