This summer my daughter and her little girl stayed with us for a few days. One day, I showed my granddaughter a bowl that had belonged to one of her great-great-grandmothers. With all the sincerity of an eight-year-old, she said she wished that they were still alive. She wanted to meet them and talk to…
Flash Fiction: Tobin & Henry
I am constantly shooing the kids out the door. I leave it wide open so I can see the yellow fields, the ancient stone fences and the old apple orchard beyond with gnarled branches beckoning like hands to the cloudless blue sky. Boys, out, now! I say for the twentieth time that day and they…
