Weather... Or Not?_The Untrackable Path_In the Eye of a Hurricane_The Tracks in the Snow
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Weather... Or Not?
This is a place I know like I know my dead, only this city is not a cemetery of the dead but rather a cemetery of the living. A great poet wrote that line, about cemetery of the living. Therefore, I have to give her credit for it, but I agree about this place, what it is, what is here. I agree so much that the phrase is forever looping through my mind and drawing me to it, to the city, and to what it breathes and says, year after year, century after century. Don’t worry: it never gets old.I want you to know what it’s like to be in this space, this bit of land, this catacomb, this hilltop. I wa...
The Untrackable Path
The marathon was almost halfway over and Ron had been closing in on the leaders for the last several miles. The people in front of him had won this race, and similar races, a few times before, but he knew that today was his chance. Ron had heard, from a not-so-reliable source, that halfway through the race there was a spot where their trackers weren’t able to connect to the system, so they couldn’t be tracked by the racing officials. This wouldn’t matter, though, if two things weren’t also happening at the same time. The first being that no one was around because it went through an overgrown f...
In the Eye of a Hurricane
I’ve taken to writing by the window, in a makeshift seat made from flattened cardboard and a sofa cushion you picked up from the skip. I’m sitting on my already numb backside, the window glass smeared with post-its about plot and character. The typewriter is crushing my thighs, but I’ve almost lost the feeling in my legs too, so the pain will stop in a minute. Besides, I’m over halfway through. And this time, I can feel it. This is the manuscript. I won’t be throwing this one in the fire or throwing balls of its crumpled chapters at the pigeons that come to sit on the dried-out bird bath. I wa...
The Tracks in the Snow
“Mom, is it going to snow today?” Alex’s four year old son, Ever, asked for the third time that day.“No, baby, not today.” She answered as she put another plate into the dishwasher. Never mind that it was the middle of June. She had tried explaining the seasons and the weather conditions needed for snow to form too many times to count. Her preschooler, however, remained unimpressed with her scientific explanations and continued his hopeful inquiry day after day. And never mind that even if it was the mwww.onedoor.cciddle of winter, they lived in Southwest Florida. The last time it had snowed even remotely c...