When my children were young, they’d play outside ‘til the streetlights came on. A cranky old lady lived down the block. They called her Crab. Woe be the kid who chased a ball across her lawn. Now that I’m old, I think I get it. It wasn’t about the lawn.
A prolific writer, Carol Reeves is loving the fun, freedom and challenge of Flash Fiction. She frequently writes about the privilege and vicissitudes of aging. Her stories are frequently published in Flash Fiction Magazine and 50 Word Stories. Her memoir, “All the Little Miracles,” was published in 2022.
Ha! Yes! I’m the crabby old man despite trying not to be. :)
How fun, Carol 🙌
Interesting thought. Leaves the story open for reflection.
Carol- you turkey! I’ve a splitting headache and it’s your fault. This gorgeous piece caught me right between the 75 year old eyes. Great job, a lesson for us —
of all ages.
Hi Whit,
I’m 87 and really grateful for Tim’s readers who “get it.”
Thank you.
I remember, growing up, the house at the end of the block was one we skipped every Halloween because the occupant was a witch. One year, when I was a little older, I ventured up the walk anyway and discovered she was a very sweet old lady who loved kids.
Nor sure if she baked them or fried them.
🤣