Browsing Category: Short Story

               “What you produce is not always sacred…What is sacred is the time that you spend working on the project, and what that time does to expand your imagination, and what that expanded imagination does to transform your life.                The more lightly you can pass the time, the brighter your existence becomes.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, Big […]

               “…Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder.  It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world.  A light was upon it for which his language had no name.  All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they […]

               In February still, they walked the trail in cedar line, corridor-path between the trees from road to hidden home and lawn amongst the trees that became a place of magic and almost-heaven in hour of evening shade.                He loved to be with her in place, she present and immersed in a love other […]

               It was a dreary day.  Snow was gone, melted in air just above freezing and in mist that one could not call rain but chilled and changed in fine and saturation of the sky.                It was a strange sky in which to find joy; yet, to her, his spirit seemed.                “Why are […]

               She smiled on the gift and sign, her mind in dreams as she rearranged the green and colored open blooms—petals soft in delicate of thin and fair of light-toned hues.                Her spirit was in romance, her mind in same.  She moved about the room, near in float, with a levity of spirit’s way. […]

               “You weren’t given a vision to chase.  You were given a vision to become.” _____                They began their day in renewal of will, resolve to do the effort and the work onward into becoming.                 “To Becoming,” they toasted with imaginary air glasses and true smiles and hope in override and dispirit of […]

               “If the storm is coming either way, where would you rather be?” he asked.                Morning was still early.  Sky was still gray, and windchimes of the neighborhood sounded on wind in blow out of south and east drawing into void and low-pressure front descending from north and west.                She thought about it.  […]

               In mid-day room of lightless seeming, no light turned on and morose of sky dimmed in cloud of usual sunlight bright, they met in stand of meekness, their moods as sky—clouded and undefined.                Still, he smiled of the will and signing of his love—face and eyes soft-glow touched that warmed her own to […]