Winter aged me,
took away muscle tone
with each mound of snow
I stared at my flaccid arms and legs.
Surely they belonged to someone else,
my mother perhaps…
when she was ninety.
Then spring arrived
With its noisy insistent presence.
Too much growth –
I’m done with that.
Robin Lubatkin does circle time with the very young and what she calls “songhealing” with the very old.
That first, immaculate, unfurling leaf. It knocked her sideways every year, felled her with its soft, green promise.
So many dead months of waiting. Did the arms of the beech sprawl up in silent prayer? Did they cling to the same frail hope? Maybe… this time… spring would never end.
Tamsin is certainly very glad to have escaped another grey British winter.
Today I notice the guy on the subway rising, in a swoop, and offering me his seat; the old man in the tattered coat and saggy skin waiting patiently for everyone to be seated before dinner begins; the teenaged cashier smiling.
Glimpses of goodness that I desperately need to see.
is a novice at flash fiction writing and is now a huge fan.
She’s handing out samples of frozen dinners that never taste this good when reheated at home. Hanging around for seconds and thirds, the growing gathering of strangers tries to make a meal out of giveaways. Tongues tied in awkwardness, silently questing for the elusive secret ingredient, no one dares ask.
Lee DeAmali resides in Los Angeles.
The snow was falling softly as I packed my last bag and closed the trunk. Seventeen years of my life and it all fit into a 1997 Toyota.
The porch light suddenly came on and I saw him standing on the porch with no slippers.
I turned off the ignition.
Susan Gale Wickes spent many years in the newspaper industry, but is now devoting her time and energy to writing poetry, songs, and short stories. She has been published in Haiku Journal, Sleeve, and 50-Word Stories.
Falling, falling, crashing hard into the cold earth.
A tunnel without start or end, no light, only darkness.
Flickers of a glimpse—something is possible.
Fumbling forward for escape, grasping for the last.
Tumbling through, stumbling out—such blazing light.
A cliffside, toes curled over the edge, unable to fall.
Rebecca Milton is an author from London, England, who is currently preparing her first print novel for publication whilst writing her second. She has been featured here at 50-Word Stories and in Here Comes Everyone magazine.
Tonight I celebrate a glorious sunset, the precious ending of another glorious day!
Its view is tainted through a hospital window; no problem.
Have I truly beaten death? Perhaps!
I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but for today I’ve won, and with every labored breath I celebrate life’s simple joy.
Lisa Lysen is having fun exploring her passion for words, hoping an adventure in writing may be somewhere in her future.
The old man stared out from the loggia, shielding his eyes with his hand. “A good crop,” he said, “it’s a good crop we’ll have.” It was midday, and the cicadas were singing madly in the heat. “A good crop,” he repeated. But where he stared there were no fields.
Grove Koger writes for Laguna Beach Art Patron and Palm Springs Art Patron magazines and has published fiction in Cirque, Phantasmacore, Lacuna, Danse Macabre, Two Words For, and Eternal Haunted Summer.
Melancholy clung to him like skin. An abusive father, a difficult childhood.
Into his cloud of sadness, she walked in. His silver lining.
The sun was just melting the cloud when death snatched her away.
A new cloud of sorrow. The tiny baby in his arms, his new silver lining.
Tejaswinee Barua is an Engineer by profession and a writer by choice. Visit Tejaswinee’s blog