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Continue reading →: Up There
Maneuvered by metaphor, sashayed with clichés, I looked up and it was still there, that sun pasted between a cobalt wall with translucent clouds brushing in the fore. A golden pill hung before I ever was and hanging still when my blip bleeps its last. I relish every age spot…
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Continue reading →: Dipping a TOE (Theory of Everything) in the Lake
Big trees fell into Lake Michigan over and upon each other like pickup sticks. The beach became a trimmed path to wend down more than to lay on. What happened when I was so busy inland mowing my lawn? So much for long walks on the beach. It was more…
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Continue reading →: Without Birthdays There’d Be No Mother’s Day
I don’t remember the day I was born, do you? But ask any mother about the day her child was born and she will be glad to fill you in. (Imagine a New York accent.) “Little Johnny came on a rainy Wednesday. Oh yah, he gave me the fits for…
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Continue reading →: An Eagle, A Weasel, And A Grain Of Wheat (I went long today…cup of coffee’s worth.)
Thursday, often overlooked, fills a gap between Wednesday and Friday. These days are often not named by the sequestered, the distanced, and the unemployed. More people are getting a hint of the homeless while hunkered down in their homes. Do the homeless know what day of the week it is?…
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Continue reading →: Tuesday
Tuesday Like the middle child of the beginning of the week. Looked over rather than seen. Endured as opposed to lived. You know how each day exudes an ambiance? Sunday with its long naps and pew perching. Wednesday has ashes and humps. Monday, extra cups of coffee. Thursday is second…
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Continue reading →: Tether. My Mom on the Phone.
Out of the quarantine of mind, I thought of my mom on the phone. A throwback fifty years when telephones hung on walls or sat on tables next to thick directories Schwarzenegger couldn’t rip in two. Hers was centrally located in the hallway between her bedroom and the kitchenette. It…
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Continue reading →: Evening
Retreating light, a comfort, seeping through skeletal oaks, their veins pasted against our memories, pulsing with each brush of wind. How long it took to gather our hearts against the dark until the moon rose with pallid expressions of empathy. For Tim
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Continue reading →: Deep Pocket
I dug into the bag like digging for keys, loose change, or a crumpled receipt. No carbs up a sleeve, like townhouse crackers, or black and white cookies. The deep pocket, the last of the mini cinnamon doughnuts made me work for them. Comfort for a cost. Powdered dust, evidence,…
Gerald the Writer 