Browsing Category: Short Story

        Such is the way of Mystics: nothing said and, yet, a known.  Recognition of signs, aware in a sense: faith, belief, and special trust in spite of the absurd.         Recognition, attuned, aware of the signs—she believed and let the Spirit lead.

               She was beautiful in the bright.  She was beautiful in the sheen.  Autumn height lived and passed yet she remained, brilliant in height-hue.                He gazed on her from near-afar as she spoke amongst a crowd.  Gathering of friends and strangers, it was only she that held his eyes: lovely in her presence.  Brightness […]

               And just like that, autumn’s height was passed.  In single night, single storm, a single wind unnoticed in the dark that felled the greatest of splendor, autumn’s height was ended; and they woke to sodden world naked of the wonder.                Where day before, splendor held, limbs shone naked in their stand; autumn’s cover […]