Childish imaginings_The Price of Miracles_The New Sun Also Rises_The Killing of Names
Catalog Guide:
Childish imaginings
To spite the cold temperature, I stepped out onto his balcony set high in the treetops. The sun was rising casting a glow above the canopy. It matched the glow that had spread around my heart.Finally, after 47 years I had shared his bed. Here I was a 70-year-old woman madly in love. I had secretly loved him since my husband introduced us all those years ago, however, I was married and he had a reputation as a player.He owned a popular restaurant and bar. Men and women alike were attracted to him. He was very good looking but the attraction lay in his personality and charm. When you were around...
The Price of Miracles
I live in wet city sidewalks, puddled with acidic rain. I live in clouds wrapping tenderly around grey-glass skyscrapers. I live in the sigh and bow of heavy tree limbs, hanging over residential streets. Where there is beauty in a city, I live. The timorous hopes of millions of humans close together allow me to be.I’m rarely corporeal. What little energy I still have after all these millennia, I rarely waste on occupying a body. Eating, sleeping, excreting - wastes. And time is one of a few things I now consider a scarce resource. Different people have considered me many different things. Lon...
The New Sun Also Rises
“Back in my day, the Sun was the center of the universe. There were plants and trees and animals that yawned each dawn and stretched luxuriously toward that glorious orb,” I said.“Oh grandma, I’ve heard this one before!” my youngest protested, perched on mwww.onedoor.ccy lap. But she snuggled closer, which in the unspoken language between grandparents and grandchildren, meant that she wanted to hear more. Her tiny feet dangled and swung absently with the total trust that comes from knowing you are loved and loved well.How could she be expected to understand at such a young age what had happened, what she wa...
The Killing of Names
The stories followed him wherever he went and for that he was glad. For words have power and the words spoken of him filled men with fear. Because of this, he never set a story straight, but would rather lean back in his chair, taking long drags from a pipe, nodding and smiling enigmatically at the storyteller and their dramatic recounting of events. At this subtle recognition the storytellers became overwhelmed with excitement and joy, slamming their tankards of beer on the bar top screaming to all those listening “see! I told you! I heard the tale from my cousin's uncle who had been in tow...