Day Without a Sunrise

When I was in second grade, there was a day without a dawn.

Youngsters were considered hardy creatures in those days, so in spite of the ink-black skies and sheeting rain, I went to school. The one concession my parents made to my young age was that they drove me. This was remarkable since the school was only one block from our house. On any other morning one could stand at the end of the driveway and see it plainly.

In the classroom our teacher tried to keep us away from windows and endured our nervous jokes about "night school." Trees fell as the storm raged, and we whispered our concerns that we might not get lunch, since the cafeteria was in another building and we were under orders to shelter in place.

We tried to concentrate on our lessons, casting anxious glances toward the bank of classroom windows where it seemed the sun would never come up.

Finally the sky lightened and the downpour became a steady shower, then a drizzle. Our teacher lined us up like good little goslings and we trooped wide-eyed past downed trees charred by lighting to the cafeteria where we were served a distressingly ordinary trayed lunch - eat it all, it's good for you.

Walking home that afternoon, we shared our stories - the tremors created by falling trees, the whimperings of a terrified first-grader, a second-grade boy's discovery that he could generate an electric shock by touching the aquarium.  A fourth-grade girl had felt her hair stand on end when she saw a bolt of lightning twist and crackle as it struck outside her classroom window.

What did we tell our parents about that day? I no longer recall. Most of us, though, made it out to be no big deal. To admit we had been scared might've prompted our parents to shelter us, curtailing the grownup-free adventures we were in the custom of enjoying.

We dealt with our fears in silence.

In my nightmares of that day, my home was always left standing but it was a dark and strange place; habitable but damaged. I've never doubted, though, my ability to weather a storm.

This true recollection was written for Sunday Scribblings .

An Embarrassment of Riches

We sit above the red roofs, unnoticed, you and I,
admiring constellations as the hours tick slowly by.

We're everything to no one. What masks do we wear here?
If I showed you all of me, would you still want to come near?

You'll promise not to pester and I'll promise not to tell.
We'll hide our wealth from strangers and from those with whom we dwell.

In secret, divide your riches. I'll divide my fortune, too.
For truly we are not safe until all the counting's through.

With our eggs in separate baskets, lest catastrophe befall,
our enemy will be time, which makes beggars of us all.

This poem was written for Sunday Scribblings and Magpie Tales.

55 - Hot Springs

They came from far away, navigating treacherous roads in search of health and vigor. Stone structures were built for those who would take the waters. A tiny community thrived. But the water's power was stronger than human ingenuity. Bit by bit the land eroded, toppling the buildings until only stones and warm muddy water remained.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, go let The G-Man know!

Debut!

I have posted one of my older novel, updated and edited, as a new serial, Points of Departure!

New chapters are scheduled to post each Wednesday.

Happy Reading!

55 - Boquillas Entrepreneurs

Clever hands fashion trinkets for sale: walking sticks, bracelets, scorpions and roadrunners of beads and wire. Daring men brave the river and rangers to place them for sale. An honor system. Donations also accepted.

Rich tourists, for whom a few dollars is nothing, admire the offerings, discuss, then reject. International law and obedience to authority trump all.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, go let The G-Man know!