Browsing Category: Short Story

               “Nowadays, almost all capable people are terribly afraid of being ridiculous and are miserable because of it.”—Fyodor Dostoevsky _____                “Do you want to be a martyr?” she asked jokingly and, too, half-serious.                 “No,” he answered beginning and staying in the lightness of affectionate ridicule before furthering into weight of under-truth, “but I […]

               Standing in hide among reeds and frond heads of tall marsh grasses, even the decoys in open-pocket water, close, were obscured.                Fog held low and heavy and suspended as mist that floated more than fell faint and light from sky.  Air and the decoy spread were still, lifeless, but James didn’t worry.  In […]

               Annie lain in repose on the long-drawn couch without armrests to set ends and limits to its bounds.  Upon it she read in continued openness of night, reading in the yellow-gold of a new-life sun.                 She read in the book of reentry and life meaning, where one finds meaning, purpose, and moments of […]

               We all have a story to live.  Beginning, none know what it will be.  Then one day, often without our even knowing, greatest chapter and tale begins.  Little by little, day by day, our story lives and writes; us unseeing to what is done.                 Then arrive little moments, looking back, when we see—before […]

               Rainfall arrived to the city, its sense and feel of building tell speaking in air and sky through all of day: in change of the clouds, air warm then cool; shifting of winds that settled into cool and damp of still that held, unmoving, until air burst and sound of wind in announcement of […]

               “You knew the secret.  But how can that be?  How can it be that only with death and dying does the sharp quick sense of life return?…that was your secret, wasn’t it?”—Walker Percy, The Second Coming                He sat on the porch reading and smoking cigar as he waited for thought to arrive.  It […]

        They sat on a hilltop in witness to worldview.  Before them shone open of worked winter field, dark brown of the fresh turned earth different in sight from pale of unturned soil and stubble left fallow until spring.  Beyond, fields of sheet shown green and bright as, beyond, lowland bottoms of the river marked […]

         “Do you think there’s bounds to what stories should be told?” he asked, “some left unwritten, unspoken or shared?”         “I think if it is one’s own, and one’s art, they are free to do with it as they wish,” she answered.  “To whomever, however, whatever way they wish.  It doesn’t have […]