Captain, the family dog, had been after the neighborhood fox for weeks for scaring the hens in the middle of the night, dragging the farmer from his bed. Tigger, the Maine Coon cat, knew that he could use this to his advantage. So one night he waited for the fox in the hen house and when the fox was up to his usual mischief, Tigger pounced upon him, boxing his face and ears.
When Tigger was certain the fox was sufficiently riled, he fled to Captain's dog house, creating quite the disturbance. To see a dog chasing a fox...
The conversation lasted two words:
"Please?"
"No."
Afterwards, Katy wondered if she and Daddy had actually been talking about the same thing or not. Maybe he thought she still wanted to have ponies at her birthday party. Didn't he know she had gotten over that already? Or maybe he figured she was asking for a sip of that grown-up drink he had been holding.
She resolved to sort things out. That evening, when he arrived home from work, Katy shuffled meekly into the kitchen and said, "Daddy..."
"No," he replied brusquely. But his eyes said something different.
Embolded, Katy blurted...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. She'd always known she was a woman, but pretty was a word that had never crossed her mind.
Shortly after she had reached the level of confidence where she didn't have to be paranoid about a little bit of stubble showing, or somebody noticing her hips weren't quite the right shape -- she suddenly became a little more confident.
All it took was sitting down in her favorite coffee shop with a smile on her face. That was it. That was when she met Sam. Her heart started pounding when he...
he forgot his jacket.
it hangs on the line, like a ghost.
(like the ghost of last night)
i can see it outside my kitchen window
as i wash out our wine glasses.
it's a plaid puff of smoke.
(reds and blacks and whites
the colors of a genie's lamp)
he left for illinois or indiana
or maybe idaho, and he won't be back,
(or so he says)
but the mornings are chilling
and i might wear it on a walk
with our dog.
Smell of moss, picked up by wind and lifted by trees. Flash of fire-rimmed eyes, toss of disdainful hair, gold-threaded-with-crimson. Derisive eyes and a tight little mouth, quick to contempt and slow to praise. Slender hands and slender frame roped the man in as easy as you please, and for what seemed like a thousand years promises of glittering gold kept her tethered to him like a
The city was empty and so was she. There was an echo in the quiet streets and an echo in her ear. She had heard this sound before--this sound of nothingness--and it reminded her of something. That vacancy. It made her think of her marriage. That was the sound of her marriage, that emptiness. She felt comfortable in that sound. Above her a streetlight snapped on with an almost audible sound. She could hear the click or maybe just imagine it. The electricity lines opening, sending current to that one lamppost so that it could shine with its weak light....
Marvin hates it when things don't go according to plan. It's quite simple really: when a person calls you, you answer the phone.
But, this just isn't going to happen, now is it? In fact, it's never gonna happen.
Not as long as he can't get away from Melinda.
"...so, my dad was all angry, you know? He told me that I had to help him with the yard work, and I didn't want to-"
"That's great, but-"
"-I'm not even good at yard work! Allergies and all of that? Yeah, allergies can really get a person down. The worst...
Travel light, but take everything with you.
That was the last message I received from my father before he began his ascent. The words struck me in an unexpected way. I had anticipated experiencing a range of emotions at the outset of his trek. Exasperation at the foolishness of this mid-life-crisis-driven thrill-seeker kick. Pride in his ambition. Fear for his life--no, fear for my own life, which would change drastically and uncomfortably if he never made it back.
But at the base of that mountain, with ice on the wind, as he read me that short passage from the introduction...
I've forgotten how to do this...how to just sit down, and type out my thoughts, or my feelings. I find that I'm constantly carrying my notebook around, with my favourite Pilot pens...and then I will sit, and I sit, and sit...and nothing happens anymore. In my room, in boxes and boxes, are books and books and books. Countless stacks of written word from a lifetime's worth of contemplation, emotion, trials and tribulations. But now....now I cannot seem to pick up the pen, or tap on my keyboard...it just doesn't happen. And what's most frustrating is how I am constantly thinking...
They stood in front of one another with only the silence in between.
It had been like that for a while. She hadn't known what to say. He had been waiting for her to say it. So both stayed silent, begging each other to break it with any kind of sound.
The silence had actually begun from the moment the date had begun, strange because it wasn't their first. No, it was one of many. The pair had been together for almost three months now. He had asked her if a date that night sounded good. She said yes, because...