The little boy next door wanted to know why the snow was yellow. I told him that the sun is melting.

Papa John 3:16 — “Thou shalt not wear high-heels if your feet look like pizza crust.”

He’d been a purely dangerous man in earlier years, but a good woman and married life had settled him down. He raised cattle now and led packing strings through the Sierra passes for pay.

She begged him to stay, but he refused, knowing the Basque herders had been cut-off from town by the consortium. And a man true to his word, he’d promised to help those shepherds, should push come to shove.

She’d cried that she could feel trouble brewing deep in her bones. He wishes now that he had  listened, as his bones lay mouldering on the mountainside, unseen.

I thought 2019 was a Leap Year. That’s what I get for jumping to conclusions.

Once that written word goes out into the world, it stops being all mine and becomes some of yours.

I used to think that ‘tangled sheets’ happen because of how I sleep, but then I did the laundry.

Silly Putty: How old folks used to steal memes.

She stood at her kitchen’s sink, staring out the window, across the open expanse towards the tree line far ahead, recalling how he promised he’d be back within the week. In her mind’s eye she could still see him leading the two mules into the wooded area along the worn path.

It was a simple chore – one he’d completed many times before; resupplying the sheep camp in the upper meadow. She should have never let him go, she thought as a hopelessness racked her soul.

Then she caught her reflection in a window pane, an old woman, wrinkled and gray-haired.

Barbie sure has a lot of nice things for a doll whose knees don’t bend.

The difference between fact or fiction is a drop of ink.