Dare I Share a Peach

Jun 11, 2016 by

In the security monitor on the wall above the front door, Michael saw the neighborhood baker holding a small white pastry box. The box and the white chef coat glowed pink from the red porch light in the wintery overcast afternoon.

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Flight

Oct 5, 2015 by

I met Mary’s son Jonah in the thick of summer on the front porch of that old house she grew up in, the one we had transformed into a million things as little girls—boat, castle, ballroom. At two Jonah was just learning to walk and his movements seemed disjointed and electronic. Mary stepped into the house to make some tea for us.

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Fog

Oct 5, 2015 by

The fog moved through the trees and we moved through the fog. It was as impenetrable as a wall, as ephemeral as a ghost. We were boxed in; at times we could only see one hundred feet, sometimes we could see one hundred yards.

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