Thank you to the Story Circle Network for accepting my story: Hoping to Be Missed. I am excited to report that I won first place
Baby Whisperer, they call me – some definitions we just slide into, naturally; discovered mine at the age of nine, when my sister, a child
Slippers, perched at night stand, twitching impatiently, mark the absence of feet, cannot appreciate the meaning of unruffled bed covers. Abandoned, a coffee mug bemoans
Hope glitters like rays of golden sunlight piercing the thick overgrowth of my life. Dare I respond or is it just the sharp deflection of
There is sorrow in the nighttime, when the light of day has faded, and the noise of life subsided, and all the world is slumbering.
Society moves en masse, flowing with the tides, propelled by a shared consciousness. Destination unknown; purpose undetermined. We take flight, cling to wings of promise,