1. The formica table which sat below the window that was far too high on the wall. Or maybe I was so much shorter, and it seemed abnormally high to me. The table was always full of projects, papers, coupons, and bowls. The deseeding of figs for her sister, the coupons to give away. There was nothing particularly special or beautiful about the white and black table, but I remember how we sat in the battered chairs and discussed many…
I stand in the middle of the crowd and know what people think as they stare at me. They see me smile as I give them my full attention. I listen and nod while they share their woes and troubles. I offer sympathy without judgment, and an encouraging word where I can. They stare into my eyes, which I presume are gray or brown or whatever color they were when I was born. It’s hard to remember, because I haven’t…
There’s a monster who lives under my bed. It rattles, and gnaws. It crashes and bumps. Mum says nothings there, but still I plead Until Dad comes to peek, and seems to agree, For all he can see are the fuzzy dust bunnies. But, I know it’s real, with thick orange fur. And purple horns upon its head, I saw when it ran past me in a blur! Its feet are so big, they bounce my bed. I squeeze my…
Windows are curious things, are they not? I love a good window, the view it offers, the light it lets in, but oh how I don’t enjoy cleaning them. Yet, if left smudged and dirty it’s difficult to behold the beauty that lays upon the other side. I have lived in many houses in my lifetime, and as I’ve reflected on the topic of windows I confess that what I remember most about each home is a view from a…