Marriott Memories

The other day my husband and I were standing in the backyard chatting with our friend John, a master carpenter who was putting the finishing touches on our latest home project. John is a retired motorcycle cop and bears an uncanny resemblance to Joe Pesci, although a more handsome version. He’s also, unsurprisingly, fond of motorcycling and as a result travels to Washington D.C. at least once a year, particularly for the annual Rolling Thunder motorcycle rally held every year on the 4^th of July. 

A is for Amoral

Time for another installment of
Five Sentence Fiction. This week's 
topic is Malice. 

You'll find more entries at:

Lillie McFerrin Writes

A little girl with a wide smile and something unnamable behind her blue eyes.

Distracted parents, phones in hand, believing the best, ignoring the signs, rush through lessons, appointments, destinations, busy-ness.

No time for pausing to really look, and listen, and realize.

But it is already too late; the cartridge of malice slips silently into the barrel of her mind as she selects her target.

The die has been cast. 

Autumn in Massachusetts

Yesterday found me in the woods, hiking through

a town nature preserve that had once been a
flourishing orchard, but may one day be 
overtaken by the forest that surrounds it. 

The Man With No Face

She meets me with mask already on

Halloween-contrary, it covers her mouth and nose.

Ushered to the very end of the hall

Where screams are muffled by distance?

Seasonal Schizophrenia

     Every fall it seems that the calendar is saying one thing and the natural world around me is saying another. 

     Here we are in the second week of October and our weather is behaving more as though it thinks we're sailing out of May. 

Relentless March

Join the creative challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Choose one or more names from the list of liquid refreshers and do what you will. 

The Arrogant Bastard of Time chugged

across her forehead

etching his tracks.

She grew bangs.

The Arrogant Bastard of Time swung

below her upper arms,

stretches of earthbound wings.

She discarded all things sleeveless.

The Arrogant Bastard of Time swiped

through her hair,

paintstrokes of deadened gray.

She dyed it scarlet.

The Arrogant Bastard of Time corroded

her vertebrae, ilium, phalanges,

pre-oiled creakings of the Tin Man.

She embraced glucosomine, chondroitin, and yoga.

The Arrogant Bastard of Time razed

the structures of her mind,

echoing skyscrapers now ghettos.

She. . .

On the Road

Retirement means finally waking up when you feel like it – or in my case, when my cat decides I should get up. It also means freedom to go where you want when you want.