Category: Very Short Story

Quiet Music

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A Sunday afternoon longing and a yearning for those fragments of what I thought I was before I took this path.

Rain droplets splatter the glass of my window, so I raise the blind to see the wind moving the unkempt grass, and I watch the droplets run down the glass.

I gather all of the friends from my dreams I have not yet met, and I hold them close to me like the ghosts of the loved ones who died.

Rain droplets continue to splatter the glass of my window, and the wind and the rain create music I often long to hear.

I revel in the quickening rain which showers the glass of my window, the increasing wind, and I wish for more of this quiet music.

The Italian Scarf

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Yellow roses adorn an Italian scarf given to her by her mother.

The scent of roses in summer lingers on the breeze of her homeland.

Spring comes to the old land to take the winter from her again.

Something found and now lost, as the scent reminds her of love.

The scarf moves about her in the breeze as she says goodbye.

She remembers the scented perfume of the roses as she thinks of her lost homeland.

The Ebony Forest

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The trees loom softly, wise, silent, judging.
The ground sounds under hollow footsteps.

The way is long, and the night moves in
until only the moonlight lights the way.

Shadows of many unknowns deepen,
yet fear does not live in this soft place.

The trees know someone walks among them,
they live and understand, so I talk as I walk.

Talking to the trees on the way to her,
telling them all of my secrets in hope.

The trees move as if my story is enough
to convince them that I may pass through
the forest and find her alive or dead.

I do not care. I must find her and tell her
I did my best;
that this world is wicked and cruel, yet here
she is safe from harm.

The trees know the truth of my heart, her heart;
they wait for the final sigh, then the emotions.

I crumble. She is dead.
The forest moves within me in ways I never knew;
I am home with her. She and I will go to that place.

Monday Mood

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Walking through a wintry green garden,

listening to the raindrops fall on the plants, trees, and the house.

What a delightful dream this green garden,

beckoning me never to leave the moss, grass, and the quiet life.

Work sounds jolt me back to a busy Monday,

and somehow, I know the corporate world is not my calling.

Waking to the smell of herbs and nature clicks,

and I know that I can never return to my previous mindset.

With my work cup, my bag, and a picture on the wall,

I take the back way out of the office and travel towards home.