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Samples
Snippet from Tomb of Sesostris
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Sarah sat silently on the slider, her feet dangling a few inches above the porch floor. It swung slightly in the warm summer breeze and she breathed in the small, easy motion. Maturing wheat ruffled in the field just beyond the strip of mown grass that had been the badminton court; the net set up every summer, taken down every fall, for many years. The sun was high but her old tabby cat, Horus, lay comfortably in the shade nearby, watching the grass wave in the breeze.
She wore a plain gingham dress and a broad-brimmed straw hat. It was her favorite dress. She’d had it for almost twenty years; bought at a barn-raising when the Amish had first moved into the area. She liked the hat, too, though it was a more recent purchase, at the Marshall’s over in Sioux City.
A pensive smile rested on her face while her eyes focused far out in the wheatfield on tiny birds picking insects from the grain. Her hands were folded peacefully on her lap, a small white leather clutch held lightly. The hands, like her face, were lined and tanned from many active years in the Midwest sun.
A massive stump caught her eye to the left of the porch. In its center she had made a planter and filled it with coleus and snapdragons but in that moment, she saw the tree as it had been, in its full glory with children scaling the branches and the old tire swing in full operation.
Six years ago, an ice storm had shown how dilapidated the tree had become and that spring Sarah had reluctantly had it taken down. The flowers were pleasant but nothing like the joy of playing children or the contentedness of just sitting on a blanket in its cool shade after a summer day’s labor.
Much further back in time she remembered being called to the tree by her son’s screams. He and his friend, Donavan, had been climbing and Don had lost his grip and fallen, snapping the two long bones of his right forearm. He had the wind knocked out of him in the fall but Jeremy, thinking his friend had stopped breathing and was dead, made enough noise that not only did Sarah come rushing out but the mailman, hearing the screams as he was driving past, pulled over and was quite helpful in bundling up the boy and packing him into Sarah’s pickup for the drive to the hospital 30 miles away.
From the field came the call of a whippoorwill. Two grackles swooped onto the yard and cocked their heads at Sarah and the cat, intrigued by their quiescence. Both the cat and the woman gave the birds a bemused smile. The grackles soon lost interest and looped back to the field, hunting grasshoppers.
Sarah put a hand on the arm of the slider and levered herself slowly upright. She was ready. The decision had been well considered and she was comfortable with it. The shock would be palpable, nonetheless. She almost looked forward to what was to come.
She wore a plain gingham dress and a broad-brimmed straw hat. It was her favorite dress. She’d had it for almost twenty years; bought at a barn-raising when the Amish had first moved into the area. She liked the hat, too, though it was a more recent purchase, at the Marshall’s over in Sioux City.
A pensive smile rested on her face while her eyes focused far out in the wheatfield on tiny birds picking insects from the grain. Her hands were folded peacefully on her lap, a small white leather clutch held lightly. The hands, like her face, were lined and tanned from many active years in the Midwest sun.
A massive stump caught her eye to the left of the porch. In its center she had made a planter and filled it with coleus and snapdragons but in that moment, she saw the tree as it had been, in its full glory with children scaling the branches and the old tire swing in full operation.
Six years ago, an ice storm had shown how dilapidated the tree had become and that spring Sarah had reluctantly had it taken down. The flowers were pleasant but nothing like the joy of playing children or the contentedness of just sitting on a blanket in its cool shade after a summer day’s labor.
Much further back in time she remembered being called to the tree by her son’s screams. He and his friend, Donavan, had been climbing and Don had lost his grip and fallen, snapping the two long bones of his right forearm. He had the wind knocked out of him in the fall but Jeremy, thinking his friend had stopped breathing and was dead, made enough noise that not only did Sarah come rushing out but the mailman, hearing the screams as he was driving past, pulled over and was quite helpful in bundling up the boy and packing him into Sarah’s pickup for the drive to the hospital 30 miles away.
From the field came the call of a whippoorwill. Two grackles swooped onto the yard and cocked their heads at Sarah and the cat, intrigued by their quiescence. Both the cat and the woman gave the birds a bemused smile. The grackles soon lost interest and looped back to the field, hunting grasshoppers.
Sarah put a hand on the arm of the slider and levered herself slowly upright. She was ready. The decision had been well considered and she was comfortable with it. The shock would be palpable, nonetheless. She almost looked forward to what was to come.
Poetry Sampler
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Curiosity
The oak rustled and sighed, The bee zipped and buzzed And the owl watched and nodded. Curiosity is a vital thing Where it comes from Is a secret well-kept But where it goes, Where it takes you, Is documented in a life. It is a greedy master It wants problems Big and small, obvious and obtuse, And an ever-expanding Box of tools, Self-created or acquired. Delicate yet resilient, It is a chimera and a rain drop, A tiny rivulet and a mighty river, All in one go. Quashed with a single word but Surviving a torrent of “didn’t work”. It is a rare thing; a beautiful thing To live a life of curiosity It is a rarer thing still To give a life of curiosity. In this there is a story, Perhaps your curiosity will find it. The oak rustled and sighed, The bee zipped and buzzed And the owl watched and nodded. |
Winter Solstice
Reflection and contemplation On this, the shortest day - Cold, short, severe, dark. It harkens to things unpleasant: Harsh words; failed ventures; The demons, real and imagined, That haunt us. But…it also beckons forward. The start of spring now closer Than the beginning of autumn. Each day will now lengthen Compared to the last: Hope pokes its head ‘round, Banishing the demons. Winter solstice, pause and reflect: Good, bad, intense, and silly. Winter solstice, pause, contemplate: A bright future with friends. Life’s journey filled with smiles, Laughs, companionship, joy. Ice Moon Ice drips From the moon Gloriously full Frigidly blue-white. I gaze into The crystalline sky And realize The ice Is my eyes Freezing One tear At a time. |
Flash Fiction - Annisette
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Annisette sat cross-legged on the grass peering through the stalks of the zinnias waving gently in the summer breeze. Her eyes were just below the level of the blossoms. She could hear the bees working busily but could not really see them until they slowly hovered from one flower to the next.
Her vision anyway was locked on her brother on the other side of the yard looking painstakingly through the rhododendron and lilacs. She could almost hear his whistling over the hum of the bees. She knew it was the theme to The Andy Griffith Show even though she never thought his whistling and the song sounded remotely similar. She waited until he made it to the pump house and the small white building blocked him from her view. She sprang up and dashed ten feet to suddenly sit again, this time behind the bed of snapdragons, the multi-colored flowers now waving at eye level. Jeremy emerged from the far side of the pump house and looked right at her without seeing. Her print dress blended perfectly with the flowers screening her from his view. His gaze passed to the zinnias and then even further to the sunflower bed. He started to amble in that direction. Annisette took her chance, jumping up and racing for the giant sycamore. Jeremy shouted “Ha!” and burst into a run on an intersecting path. She started to giggle as her bare feet pounded across the soft grass. She could hear him gaining ground, his much-longer legs eating up the distance between them, but, like often, his steps seemed to slow as they all closed together – Annisette, the sycamore, and Jeremy. She reached the tree. “Safe!” she squealed. And then he reached it, and her, and one finger tickled her ribs, expanding the giggle to peals of laughter. She collapsed to the ground out of his reach, still laughing, and a grin split his face. “You are so-o-o-o fast.” “And tricky!” she giggled. “And tricky” he agreed. “Next time I’m going to start looking at the zinnias!” “OK! Count!” and she started to run into the middle of the yard, the giggling stopping with the seriousness of the next hiding place. Jeremy hid his face in the tree and started counting, loudly, and peeking to see where she went, “One! Two!...” Unpublished, (c) by Greg Schroeder |
Prompt: History of a Place
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