When I write I become a svelte, long-lashed, long-haired, long-legged young gypsy.
Well, less gypsy, more fortune teller/spiritualist.
Author: roughwighting
Question-able Fun
“You wanna do something fun?” my irascible, twinkly-eyed 10-year-old grandson asks.
Panic ensues on my end. What Neville calls fun is called alarming in my mind. Saying “yes” to him is like opening a can of worms. Worms that scoot out of the can and wiggle their way into the crevices of mischief. Continue reading
READ-Y
When Julie opened the cover of the ancient book in the attic, the first page glowed opal, and letters began to float off the page, circling her like fairy dust. (Part I, The Ancient Book)
Julie should have been afraid, closed the book, and raced down the narrow ladder, quickly closing that attic ceiling door.
But instead her body relaxed as dozens of those letters surrounded her and buzzed like happy bees. The sweet soft buzzzzzz turned to whisperings from Spirits long gone and still here. Continue reading
The Ancient Book
The book lay unopened for centuries. Julie didn’t know that, of course, when she clambered up Auntie Murphy’s attic steps to see how bad it was going to be.
Auntie’s will had been read just yesterday, and she’d left Julie everything in her 180-year-old house – the house she’d lived in, as well as her mother, and her grandmother, and her ….
When the attic door above Julie creaked open, she released a nervous exhale. Continue reading
Momentous
It’s just the three of us. My boyfriend, his best friend, and me.
We are a threesome. I love Jim, I think. He’s handsome, athletic, and he treats me like a flower. 
But I really like John, Jim’s best friend and roommate. He’s a thinker, a philosopher, a Henry Thoreau look alike, only better looking. Continue reading
roughwighting 