C. H. Crow
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Stories (5)
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Learning To Love Marigolds
I always hated marigolds. They were a perennial favorite of my mother’s, and she planted them in the flower beds of our little home every year, without fail. It was a small rectangular bed, carved out of the yard, next to the worn gravel driveway, and edged with railroad ties. Yellow and orange, and sometimes trimmed with red. I think they made her happy, the bright colors. A beacon of hope in an otherwise humdrum existence. But as for me, I hated them. I wanted the pretty reds, and purples, and pinks of other flowers like lilies, irises, or even begonias. Or sweet smelling roses. Basically, anything that my grandmother, my father’s mother, grew. Yellow and orange were, after all, basic and ugly colors. And marigolds smelled bad.
By C. H. Crow4 years ago in Fiction
A Slice of German Chocolate Birthday Cake
It’s funny. Growing up, my grandmother was one of the most important people in my entire little world. Well, both my grandparents were, but my grandmother, most of all, was integral to shaping me into the person I was to become.
By C. H. Crow4 years ago in Fiction
What’s Left of a Life
Her muscles ached. After all, she was used to an office job. A lawyer by trade, this manual labor was not something that she was accustomed to. It felt good, yes, to be active and out in the country air. A far cry from the city blocks and skyscrapers where she spent most of her days. But, it just plain hurt.
By C. H. Crow5 years ago in Fiction
