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