A Memory

     After supper, my brothers and I run outside into the backyard. The air moves sluggishly as we sit in the dark shadow of the house drawing pictures in the dust. A ripe summer sun slips behind the trees and we make a mad dash for the swings as the first cool breeze brushes our hair. Creaks of objection exhale from the swing-set as we swing higher and higher. We let go and seem to fly before landing with a thud on packed dirt.

     In the clear sky the stars peep out and the moon displays its Cheshire grin. We begin to swing slower and slower, talking of the world and spinning the stories of our future. The crickets leisurely join the stars in song. It soon fills the air. My father comes out of the house to listen. "Time to come in!" His voice cuts through the twilight. Complaining, we trudge inside to the reality of bedtime.

Shelving Books

The experience of shoving books into their appropriate positions blithely unaware of the absence of the necessary bookend has now been chronicled in pretend piano for your empathetic ear.

The Rabbit and the Mice

Another very random limerick.

There was a cold rabbit who cried
Oh! What has become of my hide?!
     He said to the mice
     Afraid of the ice
In the future I won't let you ride.

Rolling Orange

Once upon a time
there was an orange.
The orange rolled across the grass
until it bumped into an orange tree.
Then it stopped and did nothing
because it was an orange.

The End.

But is it?

The orange flew through the air
and kissed a different orange hanging on the orange tree.
The oranges spun and
sailed into a rose bush.
Then the orange and orangette
sat by each other until the end of time.

The Beginning.

Lunchtime Fruit

"This orange looks like a pear." he said, as he sat down and ate two. 

 ("He" is my father and he did say those words, but he ate only one.)