Time Passages, Al Stewart. I grew up in the 70s, the 80s…the photos are embarrassing. Equally so for the 60s, I’m guessing. Songs like Time Passages, well: it’s good, it’s earnest, and yet it has a bit of cheese to… Read More ›
postaday
The best place for an idea
…isn’t your head. It starts there of course, but if it never leaves, that’s where it will end. We filter ideas for a variety of reasons, fear being the biggest, along with its brainy cousin, “discretion.” No, the best place… Read More ›
The Apple ate the Blackberry
I bought my first iPhone in 2007, as a gift to myself before our second daughter was born. I figured there was the threat we’d run out of cash now, with two kids, and so I could justify a $500… Read More ›
The hum
A hum started building near the Magic Place, down the dead end road that said No Turn Around. Benny was crouched down looking at the snake, and realized it was dead. That’s why it didn’t move when he saw it… Read More ›
Benny Hopstock
Benny Hopstock was a boy with curly blond hair and big, brown eyes, like a doe. His mom said he looked like Goldilocks, but he didn’t like that. He was pudgy and looked a bit like a pig, like the… Read More ›
The Death Card
My friend was a former Navy SEAL officer, and you would never know it. He was proud of his service, but humble, mild-mannered, polite. We worked together in the office. He drove across the country following a breakup with his… Read More ›
The Magic Place
It was a magic place, where we met. The sweet brine of birdsong, a tapestry in the trees, the mystery of light angled through the leaves. There, where the two made love on the ground, in the grass. How the… Read More ›
Why the people don’t come out
If I keep my eyes closed long enough the people come out. It’s an old village in the mountains, medieval times. A woman with gray hair pulled back and a robe peeks out the window. Broken-down peasant men with dirty… Read More ›
Lot Number 12
From today’s Daily Prompt The palm reader saw violence in me. Were it mine, done to me, or a horrible secret I carried like a gift left behind at the party, unnamed. It sits there waiting in the corner for… Read More ›
Touched by Mr. Bingley
The girls are at each other’s throats, so I get them outside for a walk, to the new development. The clouds are burning off, so we keep going down the dead end so I can show them a bog and… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 