“What is your favorite color?” “Black,” Baize answered. Oliver lifted an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Black is not a color. It’s actually the absence of color,” he said. “Every color has its own wavelength. Black nor white have a specific one.” Baize stared at him for a moment.  “Thanks for the ...

Bud says to neighbor Flower, “When I grow up, I will be pretty just like my Mama.” Flower replies, “How do you know what your Mama looked like?” “In my imagination, I think she must’ve been the brightest.”   “You are right. Your Mama’s ephemeral life was the best our bunch has known. On the ...

Trees silhouetted against a brightening sky cry, as the storm still lingers on the tip of their leaves. Drip, drip, drip. They soak the forest floor. An orange spider feels a plop on his head. Another plop. Yet another. He looks up at the crying community. His tentacles shiver. A fluttering hummingbird rests her wings ...

I am more than frustrated Panic mode has been activated, and the off switch still can’t be located  Yet I left this issue unstated… I have stayed animated, even when I’m feeling aggravated People are so used to the illusion I have created Things only get more complicated…

In every second there is a moment In every moment there is a heartbeat Within every heartbeat, the next moment lives  Lava comes and goes As our world Continues to flow There is a soft edgeTo every hard stone All the world is greenAlong my soul’s causeway The tree’s rustling voicesAre nature’s welcoming roar

The Sun promises to brighten every day Yet, not all parts. If you chose its shadow, darkness may envelop you. So rise, and see the light.

Jerome population: strange. That’s how the tiny ghost town sees itself and sports that statement proudly on a bumper sticker. I have to admit the statement caught my attention. We’ve been to Jerome numerous times, and I agree it is eccentric. Once a thriving copper mining town, now it’s a town for the quirky and ...

Two women share the same space. One young, the other old. One from this generation. One from another. Bowl of uncooked long grain rice in bride’s supple hands, Mom-in-law stands behind blossoming spotless shoulders, to inspect the rise of rice. Rubbing starch off rice with benign fingers, she plays, admiring her youthful face rising to ...

One of the funniest aspects of my writing is I am a perfectionist. The ideal scenario is that a scene will pop into my head, and I can write it down and fix a few grammar errors. Usually, I have a few plot points to piece together, or I have to discover everything that happens ...