I hate winter. I hate snow. I hate cold, I hate ice. I mutter these words as I climb out of my soul-less and hateful car, which has just broken down on Route 2 in the middle of a once-in-a-decade blizzard.
I can’t stay in the car because the engine is dead. Kaput. Lifeless and useless. I’ll freeze if I sit in the silver-metal icebox, so I trudge ahead, looking for some kind of sign of life.
And then I see it. Or her. Or whatever he/she/it/they is. A human-like form of gossamer silver and white, waving towards me. She (for I tend to think of angels as she), is either one-half a mile away, or two yards. With the snow whipping across my face it’s hard to tell. Continue reading
I’m trying desperately to avoid the knocking.
At first I thought it was the sound of one of “my” hummers knocking on the bedroom window. All summer I’d watched the hummingbirds sprint around our feeder hanging just outside the window, their long thin pointy tongues drawing sweet water out of the teeny tiny hole meant to mimic the center of a flower.
But it’s now December, the hummers have sensibly flown to warmer climes, and I’m here staring out at the window, listening to the knock on glass. But nothing is across from me on the other side of the window but falling snow. Sighing, I cross the room to my antique dresser, the one that belonged to my great-grandmother, who died years before I was born. I stand before the large oval mirror joined at the top of the dresser and framed with mahogany. Yes, there she is. Great-Grandmamma, tapping her fingernail on the other side of the speckled mirror, waiting impatiently. Continue reading
All six writers received the invitation on the same day and immediately called each other: “Are you going? Will you bring your ingredient?”
As instructed, not one writer told the other what she was requested to bring.
On Halloween night, a round iron pot sat in the center of the library conference table where the writers met once a week. Joellen splashed in two quarts of Diet Coke. Danielle measured and added a tablespoon of vinegar. Continue reading
“I’m not sure this is possible,” she says to me in a not altogether nice way. In fact, she’s rather blunt.
“Pleeese?” I plead. “I heard that you’re the best. I wasn’t even sure how to find you. I Googled first, of course, but no answer appeared about how to locate someone with your skills.”
She rolls her large, turquoise eyes. Continue reading
It all began with the hummingbirds, sir.
Yes, Mr. Grant, I’m serious. I awoke in plenty of time to get to work by 8:30, but as I got out of bed, I heard a noise outside and peered out my window.
No, not my boyfriend’s window. I was home. I have a hummingbird feeder located right outside my bedroom window, and the hummers come every early morning and then at dusk.
I’m trying to tell you what this has to do with the fact that I was two hours late, sir, I am getting to the story. Continue reading