Just Another Old Tree
My park gates are being opened; I hear the metal hinges creak. They are rusted now, these hinges—pieces of browned, crisp metal drop off quietly, …
Author: Barbara McCarthy
Just a Word about Communication
The injustice and unfairness bother Sarah’s mind like discordant jazz played loud, and as her nerve endings frazzle, she resolves to do something about it. …
A Little Ray of Sunshine
There is no light through the window to waken him—no sign that the sun has risen—there is only darkness when it should not be. He …
A Letter to Blue
Dear Blue, I have been trying to contact you for some time, but you kept changing your name. I looked you up under Cobalt, Azure, …
Umbrellas Speak for Themselves
I am put in mind of umbrellas because, as I write, there is a Singaporean gentleman wearing a white paper-mask and a long shirt embellished …
A Family Thing
Cliff liked his village for the quietness, the peacefulness, and the absence of passing traffic, but mostly he liked the blank brick walls and fences …
Certain Friends
Today I met Dave and Harry in the warm water pool at the leisure centre—well, I didn’t actually meet them, but I saw them, and …
Sleep
Where is it? That wonderful, healing, evasive, pervading, and even sometimes playful state of consciousness—called sleep. Sometimes it is teasing and pretends to be just on …