Sometimes he didn’t have the words, so he poured out weepy thoughts instead. They pooled in the shed like rainwater.
If her pride had allowed, she might have cried. But she knew better than to satisfy youth’s sick sense of superiority. How could this young man possibly understand a hazy memory?
Before I knew it-- goodness help us-- those bubbling flakes took on rodent-like forms. Little white snow mice, with beady red eyes and icicle fangs, scampered over the garden beneath me.
Candlelight flooded over glass and silverware across the circular table. A yellow rose petal fell from its bud standing in a vase, nearly swaying into the diner’s pasta and sauce. The diner, clean with clear skin and a cool head under icy curls, plucked up the petal. It was velvety smooth between her fingers. She … Continue reading Velvet Sway