Dream a Little Sycamore Dream_August Queen_A CARPET OF COLORFUL BLACK LEAVES_ Intersecting Trajecto
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Dream a Little Sycamore Dream
June 1777The soft tread of moccasins on the ground of the New World has disappeared. Now it seems that the people are ghosts on the prairie and their feet grace only the forgotten hunting paths. They and nature have tasted the bitter tang of the cruelties borne by the pale-faced hand and even now, while more arrive on wooden boats, they can only wonder what more this will bring. Dozens of ships had docked here decades ago, bringing with them a new manner of beast and man, unlike the brown-skinned people of the plains. Moonfacedwww.onedoor.cc men clothed in garments much unlike anything they had ever seen an...
August Queen
It all started with this desire to try out something new. Her therapist had thought it, a good idea, for her to channel her depression into anything that would get her back into the world. But what world would she fit in? She had asked her therapist. What world would help her forget her reality? What world would give her the creativity she needed to get out of her crappy job and crappy boss? What world would not see right through her like her ex did? In what world would people see her as one of their own? Not some oversized girl with unkempt hair and shabby clothes. The tall, weird girl that w...
A CARPET OF COLORFUL BLACK LEAVES
A CARPET OF COLORFUL BLACK LEAVESSaul was in charge of raking the leaves which in that season ____it was late November___ continued to fall like rain from the lindens, the poplars, plane trees, and oaks. The gardens had to be cleaned and also the sidewalks and the street ( had to be cleaned). Yet he, Saul, felt displeasure in destroying those wonderful carpets of leaves that looked like works of art created by chance. Seeing fleeting at a certain distance, as happened to those who passed on the street, these carpets of leaves seemed all or mostly made of yellow leaves, with a few brown leaves...
Intersecting Trajectories
The restaurant would close in ninety minutes. Tom looked around. More people were leaving than entering. In spite of it getting late he hadn't lost hope. Hope? What was he hoping for? He asked himself the same question again. This time he felt he should find the answer.Tom was waiting for his ex-wife in the restaurant. They had been porced about fifteen years ago. After he left the house he never tried to contact her or the two children he had from her. But a week ago his childhood friend Tim told him about a chance meeting with her. Tim had seen her giving a presentation on the products of h...