Love me to the end._Love is Fire_Rock Island_Footprints
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Love me to the end.
Love me to the end.“My back needs a rub. Oh, how I long for a swim!” Said Diana. Her husband Petero chuckled. They were lying on their lawn under a short, evergreen mango tree. Petero turned towards her and began massaging her slowly with his wrinkled but ever strong hands.“Like this?” he asked teasingly.“Oh yes, that feels nice.” Diana responded although thirty years it would have been magical” Diana said with a laugh. That the hearty, boisterous laugh Petero had found musical for over half a century.“Are you saying I no longer have the same effect on you?” h...
Love is Fire
It was a balmy night in the desert city of Doha, Qatar. The winds were hollowing the sand storm had come in and made the night sky glow orange under a full moon and the bright lights of the metropolis. He packed a bag for an overnight stay across town. There was just one stop to make; their favorite Thai food restaurant. Hot curries and delicious dumplings awaited him. He got his takeaway and headed to her apartment. It was going to be a magical eveniwww.onedoor.ccng of great food and a movie or two. He ascended the stairs to the 5th floor with anticipation of seeing her after being away for weeks working i...
Rock Island
Rock Island By Kathleen M. Brosius February 5, 2021A steak of lightning bolted across the sky. Kathy screeched and dropped to the ground, her best friend Barb landing on top of her. The afternoon sky had darkened considerably since the two arrived at the dock of the Washington Ferry. Their plans were to take the ferry from the tip of Door County across the, sometimes treacherous water, to Washington Island. From there, a ferry would take them to Rock Island. Cars were welcome on Washington Island, but tiny Rock Island was strictly for pedestrians. Leaving Barb’s car on the bigger Island, they ...
Footprints
It was a bright, clear and very cold day in the Himalayan foothills when we saw the tracks in the snow; tracks that belonged to no animal that any of us was aware of. We stopped dead, our breath clouds of steam in the freezing air, none of us voicing what we were thinking. I was the tour guide; Mike Torrance and Jerry Malcolm my paying customers; Malcolm was the first to speak. “You’re not thinking…what I’m thinking, are you?” he said, his voice whipped away by a sudden icy gust of wind. He looked pale. Torrance had been riding the younger man for most of the trek. Malcolm had made the mista...