Stories abound. They are everywhere. Some stories are massive and glorious like a monument, a structure of marble and stained glass. Some are humble and simple like a puff of cloud or a puddle of water. And some stories–most perhaps–are somewhere in between, small, but complex, more than first meets the eye…like a feather.
Everyone has stories. Here, I will tell you some of mine.
Four unlikely friends were frolicking in the ocean one day. They were the Ghost Crab, the Blue Marlin, the Jellyfish, and the Nautilus. The crab and the marlin splashed about on the surface, and dove back down, while the jelly and the mollusk bobbed gently under the surface.
Overhead, there passed the shadow of the Seagull, who watched the friends with great interest, a great interest born of a keen hunger. Here she saw a variety of sweet and juicy treats for her to feast on. She could easily carry off the crab, the snail, and the mollusk. But that marlin was another matter. He was a giant next to her, and he would surely swipe and skewer with that bill of his. And being how fast he could swim, if he knocked the Seagull into the water, she would surely become his lunch.Continue reading
At the center of my memory is the image of a horse, a horse the color of orange cream, rearing up, and glancing at me, with an oceanic glint in her eye. She has wings. She has fins. She is fast. I remember. She was fast. Slicing through the water like a ray of sunlight.
So I don’t know how it could have happened. But I have to do something.
“A rosemary and parmesan crust, with a sprinkle of saffron,” she said. “Brush some garlic sparkle butter around the edge, and use Marinara Number Nine. Typical toppings for this order. There should be a whiff of rotting rose petals when it first comes out of the oven, but that will dissipate in two seconds, so you’ll have to pay attention, and then it’ll taste just like you’d expect it to.”Continue reading
Day 1 The other passenger’s name is Elena. She’s younger than me, by a decade, so I should be comforting her, taking charge. But then, there’s just two of us. So we’re more like partners in this thing. I’m using my journal to start documenting. She had the same thought, but she’s going to use her computer and phone. We checked the overhead bins, and no one else’s luggage is there. Just ours.Continue reading
Once upon a time, flowers lived long lives. They are now known to be fleeting, for the most part. They bud. They bloom. They grace the world with their beauty. And then they die. But it was not always so. They lived long lives indeed. Longer than creatures with many legs. Longer than creatures with four legs. Longer than creatures with two legs. And sometimes, even longer than the long-lived beings of the deep.Continue reading
“Obviously, it’s a hoax,” Rita said, switching out the microphone cover for that furry one that she used when they went somewhere windy. “But can you imagine if it were real? I mean what would it mean?”
Quentin sighed. “It would mean that Nature herself is against my ever getting a real shot at doing real journalism.”
When they were young, the seven children of the Rain and the Sun were inseparable. They were magnificent, these children. When they were born, so too were colors born into the world. And the colors bore the names of the seven children. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.
What each child touched became that color. The red petals of a rose, the orange cheeks of a young fairy, the green spires of a pine, the indigo eye of a peacock’s feather. They would join hands and skip through the world, coloring as they went.Continue reading