family
Flowers in an Abandoned Greenhouse
A thin ring of sparrows held court around the boundary of the trashcan. They bobbed and bounced away as I drew near. Only one surprised me. Sitting in the filth, that small brash captain, picking away at the uneaten buns. Magnanimously, I let it too escape, before I threw my plastic cup into the bin.
By Danny Carlon4 years ago in Fiction
Princess Marigold
“Princess Marigold.” That is what they called her. It wasn’t her nickname until one day when they had gone to visit her great-aunt for the summer. The old woman lived far away in a house on the outskirts of the forest, and all of the neighboring houses were spread out from each other a great distance. As their car drove by endless fields, she could already feel dread, but when they eventually reached the house, she looked out of the window and was amazed by what she saw.
By Patricia L.4 years ago in Fiction
Sophia's Garden
The All-Things-Marigold Nursery was a bright yellow spot on the surface of the planet. It was so yellow you could probably see it from space. Sophia’s family had owned the nursery for three generations and, now that she had lost her mother and her grandmother, she oversaw the entire operation. Summers were long and golden.
By Nancy Brisson4 years ago in Fiction
A Sea of Marigold
A sea of yellows and oranges sway in the breeze as I follow the only path cutting through it, the rhythmic crunching of gravel under my measured steps a staccato counterpoint to the soft whisper of the marigold bulbs rustling together. I can clearly hear the sound of children playing in the distance, their shouts and laughter washing over me bittersweet as I approach a woman in a paisley sundress seated upon a wooden bench along the path.
By Brian Gracey4 years ago in Fiction
Flowers in the Journey of life
As I have gotten older I often reflect back on my parents and the kind of people they were. My dad, I think was a thistle, tall, handsome, and prickly. He was raised on a farm surrounded by relatives and people he had known since birth; families that had been through hard times together. Seventeen families had moved all of their livestock and house hold goods from the cotton land of East Alabama when the boll weevil destroyed their cotton, their major source of income to the East side of the Alabama Delta. When my mother met him he was a trapper of furs. In others words, he was just having fun and just making enough money for his own needs. He was still living at home. His idea of a date was gigging frogs and then cooking them to eat. We are talking about big swamp frogs here not everyday garden frogs.
By Patricia Taylor4 years ago in Fiction
Some unholy war
1. My father smokes so much I used to think that he’d burn down the sky someday. How many times have I watched him doing so? A glow of orange tints like a fading star, a thin stretch of white confines between the roughness and thickness of his two fingers. The dusty, grainy scent of smoke
By Minh Hoang4 years ago in Fiction
