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Criminals

Ronnie Dee

 

(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee

Photo by Christopher Ziemnowicz courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Christopher Ziemnowicz courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


One night we were out stealing spinner hubcaps and Dan was getting some off of a car in the driveway next to a house. It was a noisy occupation and a lady came out on the front porch and asked, "What are you doing?"

Dan answered, "I'm stealing these hubcaps."

She chastised, "You better stop that."

Dan says, "No. Not till I get 'em all."

She warns, "I'll call the police."

Dan counters with, "Go ahead. We'll be gone by the time they get here.". . .

More...







Sleeping Around




Deon Matzen


 
(c) Copyright 2025 by Deon Matzen
 

Photo by Matthew Ang at Pexels.
Photo by Matthew Ang at Pexels.

. . . .Last night my husband and I slept under the stars for the umpteenth time in our lives. It is summer and this summer it's really summer. Living in western Washington, summer is an iffy thing. Usually three out of four Fourth of Julys it rains, which is better than having brush fires start from carelessly fired fireworks. This summer the days are dry and temperatures are in the seventies. Nights are in the low to mid fifties. It is clear. Since we live in the countryside, we can run around outside in the all together. (Maybe this is X rated.) We can also sleep outside. . . .

My First Kentucky Derby







Ronnie Dee





 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee



Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Kauai King and Don Brumfield in the winners circle 1966 Kentucky Derby. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

My first remembrance of the Kentucky Derby was in 1948. I was nine years old and I became aware of the race by listening to the radio and reading the sports pages of the Courier Journal. I was already a sports fan and was fascinated with baseball box scores, as I still am, when I noticed the articles about the great horse race coming up right here in Louisville, Kentucky. . . .

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The City That Never Tells You Everything
A Personal Essay



Kainat Hamza Shaikh

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Kainat Hamza Shaikh




Photo by MADDCREATOR PHOTOGRAPHY at Pexels
Photo by MADDCREATOR PHOTOGRAPHY at Pexels

Everyone who has never been to Pune imagines it a certain way -- a clean, progressive city of colleges and MNCs, of pleasant weather and easy living. The kind of city that is always described as "up and coming."  I know this version of Pune well. I was born into it. I have walked its roads at noon when the jacaranda trees scatter purple on the pavement, and I have eaten vada pav at corners so familiar I could find them with my eyes closed. But I also know the other Pune -- the one that breathes differently after midnight, the one that holds its stories close and releases them only in whispers. This is that Pune. . . .

Tail Gunner - WW II



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash
B-17 photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

One of the most devout and honest men I have ever known, was my Uncle Ruble Cowles, of Brownsville, Kentucky. He was certainly one of my favorite uncles, and between Mom and Dad, I had nine of them.

Uncle Ruble served in the Army Air Corps during World War II. Dad explained to me that Ruble was a tail gunner on a B17 Bomber, a position that required immense bravery and skill. He flew numerous missions over Germany and France, facing danger every time he took to the skies. The exact number of missions he completed is unknown to me, largely because Dad cautioned me never to ask Uncle Ruble about "The War."  I respected that warning and avoided discussing his wartime experiences, which are explained further in this story. . . .

The Water Barrel
Where Innocence Drowns With Worms


Radia Benmenni



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Radia Benmenni


  pexels-sippakorn-yamkasikorn-1745809-3696170
Photo by sippakorn-yamkasikorn at Pexels.
     Dusty alleyways smelled of mud after rain.. Sun bathed house walls in gold each morning.  I was a nine year old child. The world felt limitless. Life lasted until my grandmother called, "Come, sweety.. lunch is ready."
     Yet I wasn't that sweet. I was no princess kind of girl. I didn't know fear. I held dirt with my hands, chased butterflies and bees until breathless, and turned over stones for secrets. . . ants carrying crumbs.. . black beetles shining and digging for worms within earth. . . .

Go For Gopher



Lillian Kruzsely


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Lillian Kruzsely



Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.
Remember the Kenny Loggins song from the movie Caddyshack?  How did it go again? Something along the lines of... I'm alright, nobody needs to worry about me. Why do you have to give me a fight? Can't you just let it be?

So you were not expecting me to start this article by paraphrasing Kenny Loggins, but here we are. . . .


Heads Up!



Lola Spencer


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Lola Spencer


Photo by Tumwinekenneth at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Tumwinekenneth at Wikimedia Commons.

Many people think that zoo animals are pets; let me say right here, such thinking is a serious mistake. Unfortunately, some of the zoo animals have been treated that way, even by staff who should know better. Exotic animals that have been hand raised or treated as pets often do not learn how to interact with their own kind. If you are trying to save endangered species by breeding them, you need them to learn correct species behaviors. That is the reason most zoos don't want the animals tamed. However, most people have watched a lot of tv shows and videos that give them the opposite impression. . . .

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Funny Thoughts





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee

Photo by James-Anthony at Pexels
Photo by James-Anthony at Pexels

(April 28, 2026--
Richard, I loved going to Churchill Downs and have been to the Derby a couple of times. My Uncle Kenny had a box on the homestretch and I went with him a lot. I loved betting and in the old days, Derby Eve was for the locals. We even got off half a day if we wanted to go to the track. That was great.  Unfortunately, I don't get around so good any more and so I don't bet either. It is too much hassle to bet online, so I just try to pick a Derby horse for fun. My last was Mage in 2023.  I do love the Derby and all that leads up to it.  Do you have a Derby horse yet? I like Renegade, and the No.1 post may chase some bettors away, but I don't think it will too bad for him.--Ronnie)

I wonder what is wrong with people. I am thinking all of the time and I assume that everyone else does too. But what are they thinking? Certainly not anything funny. I mean, when was the last time you saw a solitary person laughing. Just all by themself, laughing. I'll bet it's been a while. Hell, I do it all of the time. I guess people think I am nuts, but it doesn't much matter what strangers think of me. . . .

Summer Camp



Scott Kraverath


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Scott Kraverath



Photo by Jasper Shide at Wikimedia Commons.

I'd seen him fall, that was true, from the big green rusty steel fifty-gallon drum-turned trash can that we were all taking turns staying atop while rolling it under our feet like Canadian lumberjacks. That he had been injured, though, I didn't notice. He wasn't a popular kid, to be sure, but even if he were I'm still not convinced that I would have realized that anything was out of the ordinary. Kids fall all the time; it is a fact of life, a circumstance of our early existence when joints are made of rubber and our bones of green, flexible wood. A two--foot fall, and he got up and slunk away . . . who's up next? . . .

More....






Snake In The House



Kumbirai Viola Mbavarira


 
Copyright (c) 2026 by Kumbirai Viola Mbavarira



Photo by Marathekedar93 at Wikipedia Commons.
Photo by Marathekedar93 at Wikipedia Commons.

Fear sent cold fingers squeezing through my stomach. I glanced to my left and beheld it--a giant, hideous creature, moving with a liquid stealth as it prepared to strike.

That's me: sweet, sure, but with a cunning streak. Stubborn as a goat, always chasing change in my own peculiar way. I'd refused to go to church that morning, planting myself defiantly beside the old tyre in the yard. Then. . .boom. A cobra decided it wanted to play kissy with my leg. . . .

Caught



Arianna Fobbs


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Arianna Fobbs



Photo (c) 2026 by the author.
Photo 
© 2026 by the author.

All was serene on the bright summer day, clouds lazily drifted, and the sun was bright in the sky. Most adults were at work, and kids had already left on yellow school buses for their last weeks of school. It was not a sweltering summer hot day yet since it was the morning, and the sun just woke up in the sky a few hours ago. I pulled up to a little park in my car, and grabbed my beach site testing forms. This is the place I murmured to myself. Finally I had to turn around once already. As I get out I try not to be too hard on myself. Beach Site 1# is a small park with one tree and a trash can in between houses. I grab a cardboard water testing sign with stakes, and decide to put it next to the nice sized park oak tree for good visibility. . . .

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The Handicapper Caper





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by James-Anthony at Pexels
Photo by James-Anthony at Pexels

(April 28, 2026--
Richard, I loved going to Churchill Downs and have been to the Derby a couple of times. My Uncle Kenny had a box on the homestretch and I went with him a lot. I loved betting and in the old days, Derby Eve was for the locals. We even got off half a day if we wanted to go to the track. That was great.  Unfortunately, I don't get around so good any more and so I don't bet either. It is too much hassle to bet online, so I just try to pick a Derby horse for fun. My last was Mage in 2023.  I do love the Derby and all that leads up to it.  Do you have a Derby horse yet? I like Renegade, and the No.1 post may chase some bettors away, but I don't think it will too bad for him.--Ronnie)

Back in the 1960's or 70's, Winn-Dixie grocery stores sponsored a syndicated TV show called, "Let's Go To the Races".  It was broadcast every Saturday around 6:00. It was very popular because you could win money. Winn-Dixie grocery stores gave out these tickets to every shopper which contained the numbers for that week's races. There were five races each program, and if you had a winner, you could collect up to $250.  Of course most actual winners won $2 to $5. But $5 back then was enough to buy quite a few groceries. . . .

The Double-Diamond Mistake


Fredrick Hudgin




 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Fredrick Hudgin



Photo by Bao zi on Unsplash
Photo by Bao zi on Unsplash

It was 1983, and I loved to ski. My wife had introduced me to skiing, and we often went to the ski resorts around Lake Tahoe. It was about a three-hour drive from our home in a San Francisco suburb to Tahoe. We would drive out Friday night, get a hotel room for two nights, spend all day Saturday and Sunday skiing at one of the resorts around the lake. The views from the mountains as we skied down the various manicured slopes were phenomenal. . . .

Kin



Jill Sisson


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Jill Sisson



Photo by Yathin S Krishnappa at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Yathin S Krishnappa at Wikimedia Commons.
It's past noon when I stroll into the oak-pine woodland. The mountain air is warm, the forest duff muffling my footsteps. This is where I'll sit for a spell.

It's easy to make myself comfortable on the forgiving ground. I gaze up at a labyrinth of limbs, some green with life, others death-hollowed silver and white, all backed by scraps of cloudless blue. Interrupting my reverie, crisp rustles ripple the air. I quickly spot the source: a pair of buff-brown ground squirrels clambering among the branches.  . . .

Change Of Perspective



Laura Steidl


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Laura Steidl



Photo by Andrew Cannizzaro at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Andrew Cannizzaro at Wikimedia Commons.

Shrill squawks of distress interrupted our picnic-style lunch of hot dogs and potato salad that my husband, Bill, and I were enjoying at our kitchen table. The open windows in the room put us in the path of a warm May breeze meandering through the house. At times the breeze gently rustled our hair and attempted to steal our napkins with flirtatious gusts. The air carried a pleasant smell of sweet grass and rich earth.
"
It sounds like the birds are going crazy out there. How dare something disrupt our lazy peaceful day. What do you think is wrong?" I asked. . . .

When Hunger Draws Near







Faiza Abid



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Faiza Abid

 
Painting by Anton_Mauve_at Wikiamedia Commons.
Painting by Anton_Mauve_at Wikiamedia Commons.

That winter, the snow was more than a season; it was a vast, white erasure. It swallowed the slopes, the stone markers, and the familiar trails I once navigated by instinct alone. The world had fallen into a silence that didn't feel like peace--it felt like a held breath.

I led the flock out anyway. They were restless with hunger, and I harbored a thin hope of finding a patch of yellowed grass spared by the gale. The air was a blade against my skin, and with every step, the drifts pulled at my boots, trying to claim me. I remember the weight of my coat, the rhythmic crunch of ice, and the way I began to listen with my whole body. . . .

Mischief And Games





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Image by free stock pImage by free stock photos from www.picjumbo.com from Pixabayhotos from www.picjumbo.com from Pixabay
Image by free stock photos from www.picjumbo.com from Pixabay

Mrs. Downs was the neighborhood "mom."  When my friend Dumpy moved away, the Downs family moved in. They lived on the corner and we lived on the side street right behind them. There were eight of them: Mr. and Mrs., Granny and five children. Well, there was only one actual child, Kenny, who was my age. The others were all older. Their house, especially the kitchen, was the unofficial gathering place for neighborhood kids. Mrs Downs loved all of us and we sought her advice and comfort often. . . .

The Salt In Her Blood







Ayesha Mansoor

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ayesha Mansoor



 
pexels-marlon-alves-2016519-34562887
Photo by Marlon Alves at Pexels.

Chapter one: The Birth

Most maps ignored the colony.

Built around Halcyon Station, a British research facility, this unsaid community sat on the boundary of a frozen coast in East Antarctica. Prefab homes tinted rust-red, a medical unit whose walls were stained over decades of hopelessness, a chapel no one visited but to keep emergency food, and a weather tower moaned like a dying animal in violent gusts. . . .







Crunk




Alvin Wang

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Alvin Wang


Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/merkura-3014586/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1577309">Helmut Er</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1577309">Pixabay</a>
Image by Helmut Er from Pixabay

This strange new word is used either as a noun or an adjective. In either case, the origin of 'crunk' is only partially known and its distant etymological roots have yet to be uncovered. . . .

There's A Monkey On My Back




Alvin Wang

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Alvin Wang




Graphic from a 14th Century Book of Hours in public domain.
Graphic from a 14th Century Book of Hours in public domain.


The origin of this quirky phrase is contested. Nowadays, to have a 'monkey on one's back' means that you are experiencing a vexing, difficult problem. In the 1930s, the phrase referred specifically to having a bad habit like drug addiction or chain smoking. Back in the 1860s, 'having a roof on one's back' referred to a house mortgage. The notion of having something 'on the back' soon meant anything that was burdensome -- like a drug addiction. To kick an addiction or smoking habit meant that you got the monkey off your back. . . .

The Bench That Stayed



Diyora Kabilova


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Diyora Kabilova



Photo by David Kiribwa on Unsplash
Photo by David Kiribwa on Unsplash
 
It stood along the edge of the path, just before the turn where the pavement curved out of sight. Not set apart from anything, not marked by a sign or placed to be noticed. It was simply there, in the same position it had always been.
The paint had worn down unevenly across its surface. In some places, the color still held; in others, it had thinned enough to show the material beneath. The wood along the seat had been smoothed by use, not polished, just worn into a shape that no longer felt new.

The Truth Review



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash
Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

It is said you will see your entire life pass before your eyes at the very end. Perhaps it is because I search for things about which to write, that I believe I have already reviewed my life, over and over, so at first thought, such a review doesn't bother me. However, this is a subject that deserves further thought from every person, especially writers. Whether you write truth or fiction, you probably use anecdotes to tell stories, and sometimes, mostly all the time, you may add to it a bit to make it more interesting. . . .

The First Thing We Buried





Sofia Platias

 
(c) Copyright 2026  Sofia Platias


 

Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@idelidalvaferrari?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Ideli Dalva Ferrari</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/green-and-black-bird-on-persons-hand-_Jo3aLBPv5M?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>
Photo by Ideli Dalva Ferrari on Unsplash

This is based off a true story that happened with me and my friends when we were young. . . .

More...






Becoming My Dad





Joseph S. Pizzo

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Joseph S. Pizzo


Photo of the author.
Photo of the author.

Dad, as you know, when I was growing up, my goal in life was to play center field for the New York Yankees. When I realized that athletically I didn’t possess the gifts to accomplish that dream, I thought about being a disc jockey on the radio. . . .

The Handkerchief In My Father's Pocket





Sangmin Seok

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Sangmin Seok


Photo by abedalbaset-16900964 at Pexels.
Photo by Abedal Baset at  Pexels.

My father never left home without a handkerchief.  

It was always freshly washed, neatly folded, and placed in his pocket with quiet care. As a child, I thought it was simply an old-fashioned habit. To my father, it was part of being a gentleman. A man, he believed, ought to be prepared, respectful, and mindful of others. He taught his children the same lesson: carry a handkerchief, stand straight, and never move through the world carelessly. . . .

The Sentinel Of The South End





Ginny Brown

 
© Copyright 2026


 

Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@timwilson7?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Tim Wilson</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/grey-heron-on-brown-wooden-dock-during-daytime-uUJOmCkhuZM?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>
Photo by Tim Wilson at Unsplash.

The "washout" at the southern end of Pawleys Island is an enchanting meeting place where land and water beautifully intertwine, showcasing a delightful contrast between movement and tranquility. . . .

The View From Lisa's Window



Lisa Epple


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Lisa Epple



Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/avia5-2341618/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=6767467">Diana Roberts</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=6767467">Pixabay</a>
Photo by Diana Roberts at Pixabay.

. . . .The most frequent, and most entertaining, visitors to our yard are the deer. White-tailed deer are nervous and skittish, tending to stay constantly on the move, snatching a mouthful of grass or having a quick nibble at a flowering shrub as they go along their way. But the ones who live in this subdivision have found a pleasant sanctuary on our not-quite-six acres in rural Virginia. . . .

Travel Notes From A Novice




Marielle Guth

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Marielle Guth




Photo of pool at Hotel Luz courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo of pool at Hotel Luz courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

It was the middle of last summer that I hit "submit" on the Chestnut Review workshop application with the same energy I use when I agree to plans I know I'll panic about later. Truly, I had no idea what I was signing up for. I was a full-on retreat virgin. Was I even qualified to be there? A book of poems published in another country (in another language!) and a half-formed novel that mostly lived in my Word app didn’t exactly scream literary powerhouse. . . .

The Birds



Hannah Lee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Hannah Lee



Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@lanlinn?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Lan Lin</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/a-birds-nest-in-the-middle-of-a-forest-TCSFKoJv0nA?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>
Photo by Lan Lin on Unsplash

In my childhood home, during the third week of the fifth grade, I watched a pair of birds slowly build its nest in the upper right crook of my front porch. Small, restless, and hardly more than a flicker against the edge of the roof, they flew in and out in uncertain bursts. I saw them every morning and every night. Landing, leaving, and returning again with something thin and frail between its beaks: A strand of grass, a piece of string, a fragile twig. Their nest slowly began to grow, crowding the space between the two walls. . . .

Buck Up



Jonathan White


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Jonathan White



Photo by Doncoombez on Unsplash
Photo by Doncoombez on Unsplash

Japan's got a suicide forest. I'd bet that it looks a lot like this one right here. 
 
The wife said that I've gotta get out more for personal time. I'm gonna go crazy if I keep going like this. This is all I've got though. Two jobs, plasma center, cooking, cleaning, kids. The sun's not even up yet, still a few inches of snow in these hills, fog's so thick I can barely see my feet, and this wind is starting to get to me, but it's the only time that I've got for "me time." . . .

Kindness Is Not Always Returned







Elena Tretvachenko



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Elena Tretvachenko


Photo by Dan Edge on Unsplash
Photo by Dan Edge on Unsplash

I had a brilliant student, Anna. She had been playing the piano since the age of two, and that year she was already performing with an orchestra on a big stage. I went to her house to teach her English through games and simple conversations. Over time I became part of the family, and I grew close to them. . . .

The Tiger And The Milky Way






Matteo Preabianca


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Matteo Preabianca


 

Photo by Sriyantha12003 at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Sriyantha12003 at Wikimedia Commons.

Tiger Canyon, South Africa

I was there, standing on a balcony in the middle of the Karoo, and I could not hear a single human sound. No traffic. No airplane. No distant radio. Just wind rubbing its hands over dry stone and thornbush. That was the first thing I noticed after the six-hour drive from Gqeberha: the silence. It was so complete that my ears rang.

I had come for tigers. Not India, not Southeast Asia, but South Africa. . . .

The Tenure Of The Displaced







Ginny Brown



 
(c) Copyright 2026

 

Drawing (c) 2026 by Ginny Brown.
Drawing (c) 2026 by Ginny Brown.
. . . .I took the job expecting the steady, muted dignity of a courtroom drama--mahogany desks, leather-bound archives, and the hushed hum of justice being assembled like clockwork. I assumed, with a quiet arrogance, that my life might finally fall into place the way it does in movies: purposeful, orderly, framed in warm light.

Instead, I stepped into a wildlife exhibit with a law license. . . .

The Oldest Baby In Town






Oleg Daugovish


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Oleg Daugovish


 

Image by Petr Ganaj from Pixabay
Image by Petr Ganaj from Pixabay

At thirteen, I'm the oldest Baby in town. A gray-feathered senior by canary standards.

My life could have ended in thirteen days. The first memory after the egg shell cracking was of sunlight blinding my sticky eyes and three hungry beaks snapping and screeching from above. My brothers pushed me down every time mom coughed up the yellow puree. Already a skeleton of a chick, I got nothing. Dad jumped around tilting his bald head, surprised that mom wouldn't want to mate. After avoiding his advances and stuffing the insatiable throats for a moment of calm she'd shut her brown eyes and sit on the edge of the perch swaying in a trance. I was so afraid she wouldn't wake up. . . .

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The Long White Exit



Meghan E. Brown


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Meghan E. Brown



Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.

We did not begin our hike out of Assiniboine in a panic.

That is important, because fear always looks neater in memory than it does in life. In life, it arrives in pieces. First as inconvenience. Then as uncertainty. Then as the slow, unmistakable understanding that you are very far from help, the weather is changing, the trail has vanished, and something large enough to kill you may already know exactly where you are. . . .

The Wonderland Trail




Morf Morford
 




(c) Copyright 2026 by Morf Morford


Photo by the author.
Photo by the author.

The Wonderland Trail is a trail that goes around, at approximately mid-point, (most of the time) Mount Rainier.

It is about 93 miles long and traverses glaciers, rivers, crevasses, wetlands and, of course, stunning alpine views. And is an active volcano. . . .

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Dump-Trucks And Eyesores



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo of Danny courtesy of the author.
Photo of Danny courtesy of the author.

Randall lived almost directly across the street from our house, with his family.  Just like me, he had three sisters, but he was the oldest, while I was the youngest.  His sister's names were Arlene, Helen and Bonnie.  Arlene and I were the same age, and when we were in the first grade, our parents put us together to walk about five blocks or so, to James Russell Lowell elementary school. I didn't care about that very much, and when we were out of sight of our houses, I would let go of her hand and try to ignore her, sometimes running on ahead. She fought dirty, threatening to have her brother give me a lesson in what for. . . .

Down At The Ox And Bull





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee




Photo by Aconitum on Unsplash
Photo by Aconitum on Unsplash

I had noticed here lately, that due to my sedentary lifestyle since my retirement, my legs seemed to be getting a little weaker. I tired more easily than I once did and I just didn't have that same old pizzazz. . . .


Riding The Rails With Jack




Morf Morford
 




(c) Copyright 2026 by Morf Morford


Photo by ConfinedRiley: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-moving-train-on-a-snow-covered-ground-near-the-snow-covereat Pexels.
Photo by ConfinedRiley at Pexels.

I have encountered more than my share of memorable and colorful characters, but few were as visible as Jack Falk.

Jack died a few years ago, but up until then, he could be seen around my town with his pin-wheel, flag and pom-pom festooned bicycle (those who looked closer might see clocks, televisions and various other bright or vibrantly moving parts not usually found on a bicycle). . . .

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Friends And Neighbors





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee



Image by Carolyn Booth from Pixabay
Image by Carolyn Booth from Pixabay

My next door neighbors, Randy and his younger brother, Ray were always in trouble. I think Randy was a psychopath. His view of crime was: there is nothing wrong with it as long as you don't get caught. The police knew them as well as me. One humorous incident happened one night about 2:00 am after Randy and I had been out stealing hubcaps. I had just about gone to sleep when there was a pounding on the door. I could see immediately that it was the police. . . .

Musical Encounters

 

Galina Barashka


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Galina Barashka



Photo by Gundula Vogel at Pexels.https://www.pexels.com/photo/pair-of-ravens-perched-on-mossy-branches-29727130/
Photo by Gundula Vogel at Pexels.

. . . .I don't know when exactly I came up with the idea that I should become a writer. Maybe after several desired professions I didn't have the talent or the skills for. My outcasting of the school choir due to a tiny mishap put an end to my singing career. I couldn't become a teacher because I wasn't able to choose what discipline to teach. As to the astronaut's ambition - after one week of eating food that came out of a tube, my stomach said "enough". So, I chose something less stressful for me and the people around me. A writing career. . . .
A Boy, His Cat, And A Lady Doctor In Africa



Jackie Greenwood


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Jackie Greenwood



The author doing surgery in Africa. Photo by JEG.
The author doing surgery in Africa. Photo by JEG.

Like so many young girls, when I was eight years old, I declared to the world that I wanted to be a veterinarian. Then, came the TV show "Daktari" about an animal doctor in South Africa. This became the second part of my dream; to travel to Africa, or at the very least, becoming a zoo vet. . . .

I Am A Swimmer



Jackie Greenwood


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Jackie Greenwood



Photo by Diogo Miranda at Pexels.
Photo by Diogo Miranda at Pexels.

I am a swimmer. Any body of water calls me--pool, lake, river, ocean--I’ve jumped into all of them. At our cottage I tow a canoe, often with a dog as lifeguard, and swim until I’m tired despite knowing that beavers, bears, even snakes may cross my path.

I have a brother in the Bahamas and love to swim the beach in front of his house. My nephews, who are experienced divers, have warned me about sharks. I swim parallel to shore, my right hand grazing the bottom with each stroke so I can throw sand in the shark's eye before I punch him in the nose. That's what they've told me to do, and I believed them. . . .

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Those Were The Days



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo courtesy of the author.
PPhoto courtesy of the author.

By the time I was twenty-three, I was married and already had two little ones who had captured my heart. I wanted to give them the world, which meant providing for their every need and desire in life. I was intent on providing them with all the things I never had. That’s what a father does; he lives vicariously through his children. Everyone who becomes a father dreams of their children having a wonderful and very successful life. Maybe my little girl would be a Miss America, and my little boy, a major league baseball player. Meanwhile, I just wanted to make them happy. . . .

Fandancer
From Swiftwater Valley Stories



Joseph Kantor






 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Joseph Kantor



Photo by Eugene Golovesov: https://www.pexels.com at Pexels.
Photo by Eugene Golovesov at Pexels

In the Swiftwater Valley near the town of Friendship, the great ladies sit in choir-like tiers with swooping branches like fine draperies arrayed from the mountain tops to the riverbank. They move in the wind like strutting torch singers, dipping trailing sequined shawls and feathery boas into. . .and reflected by. . .the water. Some were eighty feet tall or more, bending and twisting harrowingly. . . .

Are You Death?
From Swiftwater Valley Stories



Joseph Kantor


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Joseph Kantor



Image by congerdesign from Pixabay
Image by congerdesign from Pixabay

The sound..."nuh,gnuh,gnuh,gnuh"...a mix of moaning, growl, and the grinding of teeth, got louder as I strode down the hallway toward the nurses’ station. Fifteen silent elderly men and women sat staring at a pablum-spewing television tucked into an alcove.

The sixteenth person, a delicate, bird like woman sat perfectly still in her wheelchair backed against a wall, only her mouth moving with the incessant sound of her voice. She wore an immaculate navy-blue dress dotted with tiny periwinkles, lace collar and cuffs completing her ensemble. I had not seen her before.

I visited my mother daily for more than a month while she was undergoing rehabilitation at Greenhills Nursing Home.

A Winter Visit to Dundurn Castle National Historic Site




Ingrid Carlaw

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ingrid Carlaw




Photo courtesy of the Archives of Ontario at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of the Archives of Ontario at Wikimedia Commons.    

I recently visited Dundurn Castle National Historic Site in Hamilton, Ontario, and from the moment I arrived, it felt as though I was stepping into a world suspended in time. The quiet presence of the estate, combined with its layered history, immediately invited reflection. . . .

nd Don't Come Back





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


It is a fact that music, or the playing of it, changed my life completely.  It gave me a great deal of confidence and much joy. One of the best things it did was to entice Donna's sister Beverly, to become a fan of my music and a close personal friend. She invited me to her parent's house for Thanksgiving one year and while there I met Donna Sue. At first, it was no big deal. I thought she was gorgeous, but obviously out of my league. . . .

The Red Pulse Of Tsavo: A Calculus Of the Unseen




Martin Willis

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Martin Willis



Photo owned and shared by the author.
Photo owned and shared by the author.

The earth in Tsavo is not just holding in heat, but is cold enough to produce blood on the surface of the planet. By the late afternoon, everything in the park is a very deep, oxidised reddish-brown; the park's famous "red dust" has coated every acacia leaf, every blade of parched grass, and the skins of the elephants that roam these vast, semi-arid plains. This is a landscape of extremes, where the Yatta Plateau is the longest lava flow on Earth and appears as a blackened, ancient rib skull (or backbone) stretching across the horizon. This is a witness from a different time into a million years of predator and prey. Being in the heart of Tsavo at dusk is to feel the weight of a wilderness that is not only indifferent but has existed for so long as to have forgotten your very existence completely. . . .
The Bonneville Bear



Tim McCarty


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Tim McCarty



Paw prints on tailgate.  Photo by the author.
Paw prints on tailgate.  Photo by the author.

My name is Tim and my wife, Jan, and I lived most of our lives in Alaska. My wife was born and raised in Alaska. I spent about 12 years in Montana before moving to Alaska where I felt I had finally found home! We both loved our lifestyle, our work and had never really considered leaving Alaska, until my father passed and my mother needed a little help. Unfortunately, she and my father had been retired and living in NW Florida for many years so, transplanting her from NW Florida to SE Alaska did not work as well as we had hoped. . . .

Herne
From Swiftwater Valley Stories


Joseph Kantor


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Joseph Kantor



Image courtesy of Freepik Spaces
Image courtesy of Freepik Spaces

I saw him on a clear, cold October night bedazzled with crisp stars and a gleaming sliver of white moon in the sky.
I drove my antique Lincoln Continental across the acre of hardened ground between the road and the back door of my farmhouse. The headlights of the car bounced over the wavy lawn. . .an old pasture really. . .and danced on the white side of the house until the sensor lights above the back porch blazed alight. The other three acres of property remained dim or completely dark. . . .

Harry S. Truman
1884--1972

Give 'em Hell Harry!
The buck stops here.


Dale Fehringer

(c) Copyright 2026 by Dale Fehringer

  

Harry Truman 33 cent stamp.  Photo courtesy of the author.
Harry Truman 33 cent stamp.  Photo courtesy of the author. 


Born May 8, 1884, Harry S Truman ("S") was his middle name) led a sheltered childhood in rural Missouri. His poor eyesight required thick glasses and limited his physical activities, and he spent much of his free time reading and playing the piano. After graduating from high school in Independence, he attended business college for one semester, dropped out because of lack of money, and worked in a mailroom, as a timekeeper on a railroad crew, and on his family farm. He joined the Missouri National Guard and served six years as a clerk, managing records, correspondence, and personnel data. He was discharged as a corporal in 1906 and went back to the farm. He seemed destined for a secluded life. . . .

Don't





Fred Cheney



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Fred Cheney

Photo by Annaëlle Quionquion: https://www.pexels.com/photo/music-records-in-a-store-15322868/
Photo by Annaëlle Quionquion: at Pexels.                              

I sat on the bench, absently watching the cars at the traffic light. I kept going over in my mind the events of the last half hour.
I hadn't gone into Marty's Music-Mart with the idea of stealing a CD. I had just wanted to fill some time while my mother and sister picked out dresses for a wedding the next day. So in I went. I wasn't even thinking about any particular music. I was just filling some time, and then it caught my eye: "Reckless Kelly Was Here.". . .

Some People





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee

Photo by Quinn Buffing on Unsplash
Photo by Quinn Buffing on Unsplash


I've known a lot of different people in my life and some of them thought they were real tough guys. Most of them weren't tough at all, and some were just bullies. But I knew a few legitimate tough guys back in the seventies.

Johnny may have been the toughest. . . .

The Bees That Saved My Garden



Toya L. Walker


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Toya L. Walker



Photo by Ruslan Sikunov on Unsplash
Photo by Ruslan Sikunov on Unsplash

When I first planted my garden, I thought I was the one doing the work. I imagined the rows of collard greens, beets, and watermelons standing tall under my care, my hands shaping the soil, my attention coaxing life from the earth. But I was wrong. It wasn't me alone. It was the bees. The humming, buzzing, dancing bees that arrived long before I understood their importance, and that quietly demanded I change how I saw the world. . . .

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Odds amd Ends



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo by Warwick Brooke at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Warwick Brooke at Wikimedia Commons.

It's a wonder that it worked, and quite surprising that it actually looked as good as it did. The "it" of which I speak, is a pushcart, built from "Odds and ends," found in our old garage. . . .

Bears And Rumours Of Bears




Zane Fanning

 
(c) Copyright 2025 by Zane Fanning




Photo coutesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo coutesy of Wikimedia Commons.

. . . .Environmental concerns were little more than an afterthought in the early 1960s, and garbage was simply burned, buried, tossed over a hill, or thrown from a car window. In rural society, if a designated dump wasn't conveniently close, new ones were cultivated like garden plots. Typically, these junkyard nurseries sprang up in old gravel pits or in hollows along neglected roads. All it took was a discarded fridge, a car body, and a few empty cans to get one started. Before long, others added to the mix, and an unofficial landfill would soon blossom. Broken glass, dead batteries, nail-infested wood, and expired medications were accepted without question. Civil and Human Rights were still on the drawing board, but when it came to garbage, there was no discrimination. . . .

Characters In My Play



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Image by Monica Volpin from Pixabay
Image by Monica Volpin from Pixabay
"Memory," is a wonderful thing. We tend to appreciate it more as we get older, and at my age, I am thankful I still have it. After all, almost every story I write is about my life, and those who have touched it, and I need a good memory.

Each of us runs into many people in our life experience. I see them as "actors," "characters" who step on and off our stage to become a part of our theatrical support during our brief stay on this earth. I am not a theologian, nor would I consider myself a deep thinker, but I sometimes wonder if we aren't just acting out a part in life's play, one that is written, produced and directed by a much higher authority. . . .

When The Atlantic Hits The Wall 



   
Ana Bohane






 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ana Bohane

Photo by Jarno Colijn on Unsplash
Photo by Jarno Colijn on Unsplash

As a child, my mum would take me to the boardwalk in Cascais, no matter the weather. Rain, shine, or wind, nothing stopped her from dragging me out the door, always geared with snacks, i.e., cucumber sandwiches. It was a 30-minute walk until we hit the stairs of a very smelly underground passage that would finally get us to the paredao de Cascais (the boardwalk). . . .

Just When I Needed You Most





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee

Photo of album courtesy of Wikipedia.
Photo of album courtesy of Wikipedia.


Oddly, the song that best depicts despair and grief the most is a wonderfully listenable song, so very well performed and produced. It came out when I was at the peak of my life. It was 1979 and I was madly in love and engaged to be married in September of the following year. I was performing music often and I was the happiest I had ever been. . . .

Hidden Gems Of San Miguel de Allende



Roger Funston



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Roger Funston



Mask of  Payoso (clown). Photo by the author.
Mask of  Payoso (clown). Photo by the author.

When most North Americans think of Mexico, they think beach resorts, Mexico City, pyramids. . .and cartels. But Mexico is a large, culturally and biological diverse country not easily catagorized, much the same as the United States. One must use common sense to avoid known areas of gangs and crime anywhere in the world.

My wife and I have visited San Miguel de Allende four times and will shortly leave for our fifth trip. A UNESCO World Heritage site, San Miguel de Allende is famous for its baroque and neo-classical Spanish colonial architecture. The buildings have colorful fasades, often with ornate stone carvings and heavy wooden doors, some from the 18th century. Cobblestone streets and intimate courtyards with elaborate fountains are commonplace. . . .

Chance Encounters Of A Repetitive Nature





Elizabeth Alvera Mullock


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by 
Elizabeth Alvera Mullock





Image by Ekaterina from Pixabay
Image by Ekaterina from Pixabay

A story about encountering a seventy-year-old man in my neighbourhood on numerous occasions and realizing that I may have met the individual before. Initially, I had some cause for concern with regard to the man's welfare and well-being. I eventually came to learn that he possessed a home in the neighbourhood and social supports in the community. . . .

Whatever Flyeth Or Creepeth Upon The Earth





Karen Radford Treanor 

 

(c) Copyright 2026  by Karen Radford Treanor



Image by PublicDomainImages from Pixabay
Image by PublicDomainImages from Pixabay

One of my late mother's more endearing qualities was her boundless love for all things that crawl, fly, or swim upon the earth. She took it as her civic duty as a country resident to ensure that any ill, injured or incapacitated creature that dragged itself to her door was nursed back to health. . . .

Sprinkle,  Pour, Or Hose

Growing Up As  A PK


Bonnie Crandall


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Bonnie Crandall




Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.

My ten-year old voice was firm and full of authority. "By the power invested in me by the church, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

As usual, this was the point when the giggling started from the lawn chairs in the back of the play-yard, and Bryan, who was the most sought-after "husband," would begin to redden from the neck up. . . .

More...






The Shotgun





Ronnie Dee

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee

Photo by Ben Stassen at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Ben Stassen at Wikimedia Commons.


Back at the pool hall, one evening, one of the guys decided that he wanted to go to a local house of ill repute, so Bud said "OK," we'll take you," and four of us piled in the car to take him to this whorehouse, which was located in one of the seamier parts of town. . . .

Beverly's Magic





Abbie Creed


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed





Photo by Kampus Production at Pexels.
Photo by Kampus Production at Pexels.

I wrote this story following my first visit to the beauty shop after the pandemic quarantine was lifted. It was like a little bit of heaven! When the order to shut in and stay safe came, one of the first things I missed was my weekly trip to the beauty shop. When I started teaching at St. Raphael many years ago, I treated myself to a weekly visit to the beauty school on Bardstown Road, where Beverly was a student. She worked her magic the whole time she was in school there. . . .

Cadiz






Giles Ryan


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Giles Ryan


Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.


It's a pleasure to walk down the narrow streets of Cadiz, where few cars pass, and they going one way and taking great care with scant margin for error, turning the corners slowly, lest they scrape their paintwork. Most of the buildings are no more than three or four floors, and all are old stone and stucco and the streets are cobbled, which gives a strong impression of permanence altogether fitting for one of the oldest cities in Europe, first settled by Phoenicians, followed by Romans, Visigoths, and Moors, and then reconquered by Catholic Spain in 1262. Columbus sailed from here, and other explorers too, in their search for the wealth of other lands, the silks and spices of the East which they paid for, and the silver and gold of the Incas and Aztecs which they simply took. . . .

Summer Of The Peacock




Sara Etgen-Baker



 


(c) Copyright 2026 by Sara Etgen-Baker

Aunt Betty working at the Western Union office in Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
Aunt Betty working at the Western Union office in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. 
Photo of  courtesy of the author

I was 14 when the Greyhound rumbled into the Cape Girardeau bus depot, its chrome nose gleaming like the eye of some futuristic mechanical beast. I stepped onto the concrete, the air smelling of diesel fuel, oil leaks, and the metallic tang of brake dust. The wind blowing off the Mississippi River was hot and rattled the thin plastic umbrella I'd bought at Stuckey's earlier that morning. Mother's departing words to me earlier that morning echoed in my head, a thin thread of reassurance. "Aunt Betty will take good care of you, Sweetie Pie. Two weeks. That’s all.". . .

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Damn Hippie Vans




George R. Frost


 


(c) Copyright 2026 by George R. Frost


Image by gweno333 from Pixabay
Image by gweno333 from Pixabay

You never know when you will collide head-on into history. You may even end up in a chapter as a minor character in a major even. That’s what happened to us when dad decided he wanted to go on a nice peaceful Sunday ride on a hot muggy August afternoon. Little did any of us suspect we would find ourselves smack-dab in the middle of major historical event. . . .

A Home Away From Home





Abbie Creed


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed

Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.

Growing up in the 1930's was certainly quite different from today, but some things don’t change. I came from a large, strong Irish Catholic family. We lived in an Irish community called Limerick, where our church, St. Louis Bertrand was at the center of our life. There were nine children. All of us graduated from the parish school. My brothers were altar servers, my dad sang in the church choir, and the girls joined the Young Ladies Altar Sodality. . . .

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Jamaican Delightful Dishes
Poor Black Creation Now Expropriated By The Rich and Ethnic Minorities





Winston Donald


   
(c) Copyright 2026 by Winston Donald

Photo by Tim Samuelat Pexels.
Photo by Tim  Samuelat Pexels.

As Black History Month reaches its climax, there is one notable achievement by a black majority country such as Jamaica that has not been mentioned or rarely recognized--the food it currently shared with the world. Jamaican dishes and food are delicious tasting food and dishes, now expropriated and exploited by the ethnic minority, especially big capital bearing white Jamaica. People may be indifferent to this or just do not care, but what is factual cannot be thrown under the carpet. . . .

Donkey






Giles Ryan




 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Giles Ryan


Painting by Honoré Daumier: at Wikimedia Commons.
Painting by Honore Daumier: at Wikimedia Commons.

I am out and on the road quite early, when the moon still loiters in the sky. She is a gibbous, left-handed moon, just off my shoulder as I walk out in the half-dark, looking for a sign that will show me the road. But soon the moon is gone, her soft light replaced by the waking sun. I have not slept so very well and I walk on somewhat all a-grumble, hardly a proper Nazarene spirit for someone who slept the night in a church, but this soon passes, for I am cheered by the rooster's reveille, the cheerful greetings of the farmyard dogs, and the chorus of the songbirds, filling the air with their dawn devotions. . . .

The Portal To Another World







Sylvia Eze




 

(c) Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze
Image by Armin Forster from Pixabay
Image by Armin Forster from Pixabay

Oh, I remember when someone once asked me, very confidently, "So… how many countries have you been to?"

I said, "Six."

The reaction?  Immediate interest. Eyebrows raised. Respect upgraded. . . .

The One Who Thought She Had Arrived







Sylvia Eze




 

(c) Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze

pexels-naele-souza-266966516-12753554
Photo by Naele Souza at Pexels.

I remember when I first came to America. I'm a woman who grew up in the western part of Africa, and I arrived with dreams.

Not small dreams.


Cinematic dreams. . . .

Water And The Things With It






Sylvia Eze



 

(c) Copyright 2026 Sylvia Eze


Photo by Glenn Haertlein on Unsplash
Photo by Glenn Haertlein on Unsplash
 
I remember watching Aquaman when I was little--especially the scene where the child actor, for Jason Momoa role's who was the main character, was being bullied. Because he was the king of the sea, he commanded all the fish and sea creatures to thump against the glass, his eyes glowing wildly. It terrified his bullies. Then there were the underwater action scenes--dramatic, powerful, alive. . . .

Jim and Ronnie Dee



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo courtesy of the author.
 Ronnie, Gramps, and Jim in Boonville, North Carolina.   Photo courtesy of the author.
(Click here... to listen to some of the music.)
For those of you who love reading these short stories, you have no doubt noted the writings of my dear friend, my old pal, Ronnie Dee. I knew there was a wealth of stories up there in his brain, and I was anxious to get him to open the recesses of said receptacle, get his life adventures out, dust them off, and put them in writing for us all to enjoy. I am happy to say my gentle nudging has met with remarkable success. Look him up! . . .

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What To Do If You Set A Moose On Fire




George R. Frost


 


(c) Copyright 2026 by George R. Frost


Photo of the author.
Photo by Chris Zhang on Unsplash

Somewhere in the Fish and Wildlife manual there is a small section about what to do if you happen to set a Moose on fire. You know if there is a section like this, it got there because it happened. Sure enough, a story appeared in the Anchorage newspaper. As outrageous as it sounds something like an O'Henry story coming to life, I will attest that this account is one hundred percent true. The reason I am so sure is because there was an eyewitness to this bizarre event who provided photographs which the newspaper included along with the story. . . .

TORNADO!





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Chandler Cruttenden on Unsplash
Photo by Chandler Cruttenden on Unsplash


In the Spring of 1973, I ordered a brand new car. It was an AMC Gremlin.  AMC, at that time had Roger Penske, who was having a lot of success in NASCAR and TransAm racing with two top of the line drivers, Bobby Allison and Mark Donahue at the wheel of the AMC Matadors and Javelins. AMC and Penske later had a big dispute over modifications to the cars and Penske went off on his own, with better success than AMC, I opine.

For the less financially successful folks, like me, they had the Gremlin. It was a very nice car. It was small, but they even made a V8 model. My sister-in-law and her husband bought one, with a stick. I bought the six cylinder, red, automatic. We both went for the denim interior. As I said, it was a neat little car with big tires and it was the easiest car in the world to spot in a parking lot. . . .

The Incredible Orchard




Karen Radford Treanor 

 

© Copyright 2026  by Karen Radford Treanor



One of the last of the unfortunate apple trees, still surviving--barely--in 1973.  Photo courtesy of the author.
One of the last of the unfortunate apple trees, still
surviving--barely--in 1973.  Photo courtesy of the author.

. . . .Do you have an Uncle Charlie? That may not be his name, but they share a characteristic: an enormously fertile brain and little or no common sense. Uncle Charlies have the most wonderful schemes for making money fast--but for them the motherlode almost always turns out to be fools' gold. They can dream up any number of ways to do a task faster, easier, or cheaper--but somehow the result rarely achieves any of those goals. . . .

Shadows On The Nile





Swabrah Nabuuma


 
© Copyright 2026 by Swabrah Nabuuma

Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh at Pexels.
Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh at Pexels.


That evening, the Nile moved like a long breath under the fading sun, quiet but alive, as if it carried secrets too heavy for the sky to hold. In our village, we used to say that the river remembers everything. It remembers the footsteps of fishermen who never returned, the laughter of children who learned to swim in its shallow edges, the whispered promises of lovers who believed the current would carry their vows into forever. I did not understand what that meant when I was younger. I only knew that when the sun began to sink and shadows stretched across the water, something inside me would grow still. . . .

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Music





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Duncan McNab on Unsplash
Photo by Duncan McNab on Unsplash



After high school, and a few wasted years, I finally got serious about something positive, playing music, and it started my transformation into an actual productive human being. I think I had been looking for a way out of my wicked ways, I just didn't know where to look.

I was always a singer. I learned my first song at age five, "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows,"  a lovely tune taken from Frederick Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu, Op. 66, which was my mother's favorite song during World War II, and I serenaded her often. My second was Hank Williams', "Lovesick Blues," which I enjoyed singing the most. . . .

Her Last Day




Ollie Matthews



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ollie Matthews



Photo by Jovan Vasiljević on Unsplash
Photo by Jovan Vasiljević on Unsplash

It's the last time she'll do this. The last time she'll look up from her desk at the audience of uninterested heads, some sleeping on their workbooks, some chatting and playing. The last time she'll get up and write the date on the whiteboard, the last time she'll wait for silence, then call for it. The last time she'll shout at this kid--the last time she'll shout at any kid. . . .

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I'm Not Afraid, So Don't You Be Afraid




Ollie Matthews



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ollie Matthews



Painting by Ilya Repin courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581.
Painting by Ilya Repin courtesy of Wiikimedia Commons.


Just one place is all I need. I don't even need a table, just a surface and a chair will do. I'm looking through the windows. Every room in the pub is packed. Every chair is taken; the tables are piled high with plates and glasses and bottles. There are people of all ages, even children--football fans in their sky-blue shirts and scarves. The hubbub escapes through the windows. The rain seeps through my coat onto my shoulders. My hands are pink, stinging from the cold. The buses and taxis rip across the wet asphalt. Umbrellas clash at the crossing. The lights in the puddles are brighter than the street lights above. . . .

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The Main Thing In Life Is Mum




Ollie Matthews

 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ollie Matthews




Photo by Katja Rooke on Unsplash
Photo by Katja Rooke on Unsplash

A platoon of Russian servicemen were the only other guests in the restaurant. Their table was piled high with glasses and bottles. They were all late thirties and forties, short-haired, muscular. They were clinking fresh glasses of beer and shouting over each other.

O and I had just arrived in the little town of Sisian, the last stop on our tour of southern Armenia, and had managed to walk a hundred yards in the midday heat to the only restaurant in town. . . .

Milestones



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo courtesy of the author.
 Photo courtesy of the author.

In June of 1960, I turned nineteen. Back then, all of us guys were concerned about the draft, and I had been thinking about it since registering. Those friends who were in college were safe, as long as their grades were good, but I had chosen to go to work right out of high school and take a few classes at the University of Louisville at night, until I had a better idea of what the heck I wanted to do with my life. Vietnam had begun to heat up, and when Lyndon Johnson became President, it would worsen. . . .

Hate Sees Only A Part Of A Being



Laura Labno


 


(c) Copyright 2026 by Laura Labno


Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


'To the Man who loves, people are set free from the qualities of good and evil, wise or foolish, and confront him in their singleness as Thou. Hence love is not an enjoyment of a wonderful emotion, not even the ecstasy of Tristane and Isolde, but the responsibility of an I for a Thou.' - Martin Buber

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Hair





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Sasun Bughdaryan on Unsplash

Photo by Sasun Bughdaryan on Unsplash


I got my first haircut when I was three. I had long, curly blond locks and my mother cried when Louie the barber cut it off. I got my hair cut a few more times by Louie the Barber and I was always good. He would wave his straight razor around and threaten to "make a baloney sausage" out of me if I misbehaved. . . .

Billy Joe





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo courtesy Way Home Studio at Freepik
Photo courtesy Way Home Studio at Freepik


I don't know if there was a kid like this in every neighborhood, but there should have been. Billy Joe was a real hoot. Even us kids knew he was looney. The first thing the neighborhood mothers told a new arrival was, "Keep your child away from Billy Joe," and we would be so admonished. So naturally, the first kid we saw on the street would be asked, "Hey, where does this Billy Joe live?". . . .


Jacelyn


An excerpt from a work in progress





Bruce Rosenke



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Bruce Rosenke


Photo by Susan T. Cook at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Susan T. Cook at Wikimedia Commons.

Jacelyn Hiram had her double bed moved out, although it wasn't necessarily an easy decision, the urge to keep it as a shrine was strong!

She now sleeps on a bottom bunk, Mary, Sasha, and Stanley, sleep together on the other bottom bunk every night. Bruce had built safety rails on the top bunks, and since they are installed, a 'sleep-over' for 6 is possible, but that hasn't happened yet, 'If William was here it would have happened often!' are Jacelyn's thoughts as she cleans the room. She does enjoy the extra floor space, this room of less than 150 square feet barely had room to shuffle sideways, let alone touch-dance; her and William did that on the bed. Jacelyn's body misses William, but not as much as her soul does. . . .

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The Earth That Sustains Us




Kelly Maida







 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Kelly Maida
Photo by Nolen Boyd at Wikimedia Commons.

Photograph by Nolen Boyd at Wikimedia Commons. Young Rial Redding, third generation of Reddings who have ranched in Sarpy Basin, joins the resistance movement. The Reddings have refused to sell to the Westmoreland Coal Company, 06/1973.  U.S. National Archives' Local Identifier: 412-DA-6657


I started writing this because of the litter that I see on a daily basis. I see people throwing their cigarettes and garbage around.  This turned into something much more than that. Littering has a ripple effect that harms us all. 

I grew up watching commercials that talked about the importance of not littering. Some had owls saying give a hoot and don't pollute. Or Indians crying over the mess that is on the earth. I wish that we had more reminders of this now. . . .

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A Fireside Chat



Valerie Forde-Galvin




 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Forde-Galvin

Photo courtesy of the author..
Photo courtesy of the author.

It's late evening at the Meredith home. The family is asleep upstairs while here in the living room, from my established place on the sofa, I observe the domestic scene. Dog lies by the fireplace where the remnants of a fire still produce some heat. In her cage hanging from the rafters, Canary appears hypnotized by the dying embers. But don't be fooled. The girl is smarter than she looks. As usual, Goldfish takes his methodical laps around his bowl, unaware of his surroundings. And yet there are times when even Goldfish displays a glimmer of intelligence. . . .

The Man Of Renown





Abbie Creed


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Abbie Creed


Image by Artur Skoniecki from Pixabay
Image by Artur Skoniecki from Pixabay

When the youngest of my six children and the last of my five boys, was a 2nd grader attending our parish school, he had many friends, including my next-door neighbor's son. The school was large, having three classrooms for each of the eight grades. Some of them walked to school cutting through our back yard.

When one of the 2nd grade teachers had a health breakdown, the pastor called and asked me to teach that class for the next half of the school year. I was not a certified teacher but was the 2nd grade teacher of religious education for our Sunday School. Since I had five boys, he felt strongly that I could do what needed to be done. . . .

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Chasing Rabbits




Kelly Maida







 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Kelly Maida
Image by love4musoc1972 at Pixabay
Image by love4musoc1972 at Pixabay 

Is your food and drinks sending you down rabbit holes?

Did you ever notice life was like an Alice n Wonderland story? Pretty packages on our foods and drinks that basically say eat me or drink me! While they send you down a rabbit hole craving more? Maybe the white bunny stands for sugar. And the world is constantly chasing it. The bunny keeps running because we newer seem to satisfy the sugar or food cravings. . . .


Cheap Beer And Pizza




George R. Frost


 


(c) Copyright 2026 by George R. Frost


Photo of the author.
Photo of the author.

This is the story of the last dinner I shared with my mother on December 23, 2002.

My brother Tom called me to let me know that mom's lymphoma had gone terminal. I called Alaskan Airlines for a flight out of Anchorage, Alaska to Syracuse, New York. It was the holiday season, but I managed to get a flight out that day. . . .

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More From 35th Street





Ronnie Dee



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

The first little adventure of my life happened on Amy Avenue when I was just a few months old. I was in my Taylor-Tot walker one morning when the Donaldson man delivered the bread. They would actually open the front door and put the stuff inside. This was 1939 and bakery goods, ice, and even groceries were delivered daily. Doctors made house calls and medications were delivered. The Donaldson Bakery was the most well known in town. They delivered baked goods of all sorts all over town. They used horse drawn trucks into the mid 1950's when they switched to motorized vehicles. . . .

The Magic Table





Ronnie Dee



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Photo by Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The Nation Gallery of Wales at Unsplash.
Photo by Photo by Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The Nation Gallery of Wales at Unsplash

My family had a little bit of magic or something else going on for years. I have seen references to something like this from time to time, but no one can explain exactly what it is. But I have witnessed it and I have no reason to make up something so silly. . . .

A Blast From The Past



Valerie Forde-Galvin




 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Forde-Galvin

Photo courtesy of the author..
Photo courtesy of the author.


When lightning strikes, our tour bus skids to a stop. A clap of thunder is immediately followed by an ominous crack and a giant oak tree crashes onto the road. Suddenly an entire tree top looms in front of us. The engine cuts out and, from the driver's seat, Manny leans forward to look out the still intact windshield with its view now completely blocked by leafy branches. He holds up two fingers. "Two inches," he proclaims theatrically. "Just two friggin' inches there was between us and death.". . .

Circus Days    




Thomas Turman


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Thomas Turman




Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay
Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay

The door of the red, worn railroad car is scraped open by a short, bald guy and the breath-stopping animal smell whooshes down the wood ramp. I wait, straining to see into the opening. Then my world changes forever. Out comes an elephant and then another and then another right toward me. The three of them delicately sway down the ramp confidently backing up all of us there to greet them.

But I take two tentative steps toward them. . . .

My New Sparta



James L. Cowles


(c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

 
Photo courtesy of the author.
 Photo courtesy of the author.
It was 1951, and my Christmas present was a new Sparta box camera, with a flip open viewfinder, and a flash attachment. I couldn't wait to get that thing working, and since there were no film or flashbulbs included in the box, I asked dad if "Stiles Drugstore might be open," and he said, "Brent is always there, and I’m sure he’s open today.". . .

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A Broken Humerus Is Not Funny





Ronnie Dee



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Chrisnorlin at the English Wikipedia courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Chrisnorlin at the English Wikipedia
courtesy of  Wikimedia  Commons.

This time I got hurt. I totaled three cars during my adventures and received minor injuries in the other two, but this time I got it pretty good. It began like the others. I was driving home drunk one rainy night in February, 1971. I don't remember exactly what happened, but when the road took a sharp right, I kept going straight and ended up banging into a tree and broke my right arm in half. I do remember being awakened by two policemen helping me out of the car. I had been knocked unconscious and was in great pain. I didn't know how long I had been out. . . .

Strange Bedfellows

    

 

Valerie Byron    

(c) Copyright 2026 by Valerie Byron  

  

Photo property of the author.
Photo property of the author.


The Bells were a strange family. Not that I knew them that well, mind you. I'd lived next door for just a few years and from what the neighbors told me, the husband seemed quite hen-pecked. I'd see him sitting in front of the window as I walked by, just staring into space. She was always there, constantly nagging at him, pulling and pushing, wanting her way. I often wondered why he put up with it, seeing as how he was such a sweet, mild-mannered sort. . . .

When The Words Came Back




Cybil Koudsi

 
(c) Copyright 2025 by Cybil Koudsi




Photo by Sonali Bhatnagar at Wikimedia Commons.
Image by Cornelia Schneider-Frank from Pixabay

For as long as I could remember, I had been terrified of public speaking. Not a mild nervousness, not the kind of fear that fades once you start talking, but the kind that felt alive, like it knew exactly when to show up and how to corner me. Every time I was told I had to present in front of my class, it felt as though the world itself were collapsing inward, the walls closing in while public speaking stood there waiting, patient and smug, daring me to fail. . . .

Stephanie's Light




Judith Nakken


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Judith Nakken



Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.
Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

She was sitting on her backpack outside the Welcome to Oregon rest stop, and it was beginning to rain. Hippie-type bands and jangles were incongruous on the fortyish face that asked a silent question through the open passenger's window, there on a summer Sunday in 1989.

"I'm going almost to Portland," I answered, "staying here on I-84 all the way. But I'm late for a rendezvous and can't stop for anything.". . .

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Spin Out





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Dextar Vision on Unsplash
Photo by Dextar Vision on Unsplash

This one may have been the most puzzling encounter of all.  It was 1970, I still had my 340 Duster, and as always, I was zooming down the Watterson Xway one early evening when I almost missed my turn off at Breckenridge Lane. I guess I was just daydreaming, which was nothing new for me, and I swerved onto the ramp, but turned too sharply and began to spin. A bad driving mistake by me. I don't know how fast I was going, but I was sliding down the ramp going around and around real fast.

Boy Scouts vs. Wrestlers



Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Georgous George, the ring sprayed with Chanel #5 prior to the start,  prepares a counter move, 1949.  Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


One thing my grandmother and some of her church friends tried to do to me was get me in the Boy Scouts. Now, I have nothing personally against the Boy Scouts. I am sure it is a wonderful organization for boys. It just so happens that I was not one of those boys.

I knew at this point in time there were some rumblings about my behavior and what to do with me. I know that she did not want me incarcerated, but she was reaching the end of her rope. So some misguided soul from church suggested to her that I might like the boy scouts. . . .





Chasing Sunsets




Sara Etgen-Baker



 


(c) Copyright 2026 by Sara Etgen-Baker

Photo of courtesy of the author
Mike and Sara 1967. Photo of  courtesy of the author

I remember the day I first saw him. Glancing out our living room window, I noticed a boy about my age slowly walking down the sidewalk. He wasn't just any boy, but a boy whose face and arms were completely wrapped in white bandages, resembling an Egyptian mummy as he shuffled down the leaf-covered sidewalk. . . .

The School Of 3 Corners



Albert W. Caron, Jr.



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Albert W. Caron, Jr.



Photo by Sven Kucinic on Unsplash
Photo by Sven Kucinic on Unsplash

Sex, drugs and Rock ‘n Roll.  Those were the major subjects of The School of 3 Corners. I attended this street school six decades ago for three consecutive summers. This school was popular for us adolescent boys since we learned more about awkward changes in our bodies and voices than at home. Disguising these "educational" courses from my parents, I told them that we "studied" biology, chemistry and music to get a jump on some subjects in preparation for high school in the fall. They bought it. . . .

Memories From The Heart




Kelly Maida







 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Kelly Maida
Photo by Pixabay at Pexels.
Photo by Pixabay at Pexels.

Certain photos we love having around us to remind us of beautiful memories. It took me a long time to be okay to actually have pictures out of Klaus. My cat Niklaus passed away a year ago. I called him Klaus or Klaus mouse for short. He had a lot of cute nicknames. I also called him poppers for Mr. Poppers Penguins because he liked that movie. I put all his stuff away hidden in a closet when he died. It took me a year to start taking out his pictures. I slowly started taking out pictures and I just put his ashes by my bed. It takes time getting over grief. I didn't think I would ever be able to look at his pictures again without breaking down. . . .

35 For 35





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


We had some kind and helpful neighbors on 35th Street. This was in the West End of Louisville in the fifties, when people weren't so suspicious of each other. Neighbors would knock on your door and ask, "Do you need anything from the grocery today?"

In today's society my family would never have been able to live our lives pretty much unaffected by bureaucracy as we did back in the forties and fifties. Somehow we always had enough to eat and wonderful Christmases. . . .

One Way Bridge




Pamella Laird





 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Pamella Laird


Photo by Eric A. Hegg Photographs at Wikimedia Commons.
Photo by Eric A. Hegg Photographs at Wikimedia Commons.

The thud of the hull against the jetty woke Jock Duncan from a feverish sleep. "Bloody hell! What was that?"  His whole being throbbed.
A fierce draught, swirling and moaning from the mast and stays, like a blast from a polar ice cap, added to his misery. He struggled to pull a padded jacket around his shoulders. As awkward as an old man, he searched for the sleeve-holes. Not in his wildest nightmares had it ever crossed his mind, that living this unconventional life of freedom, might one day be his downfall. . . .

Duster and Maverick





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

No, this is not about a cattle drive. It is about a couple of automobiles.

There was one especially scary incident that I remember clearly to this day. It was the night I turned Indiana Highway 62 into a speedway. I was leaving the Storefront Congregation, a folk music bar in Louisville, when some guy I barely knew asked for a ride home. I was feeling generous and said, "Sure, why not," and off we went. . . .

The Sun and The Sea




   
Savannah Ucha



 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Savannah Ucha
Photo courtesy of the author.
Photo courtesy of the author.

It isn't until the clearing of trees, wet and happy from the recent rains that have come down on Santa Barbara, that I can finally see the top of the mountain. My legs rumble beneath me, threatening to give out. With the sun shining through at its peak, the hand before me unrecognizable, the leathered skin sprinkled with sunspots so foreign, signaling a life long lived. The power of the sun reflects through the vast ocean's surface, a mixture of blue whiteness speaking to me, commanding me to stay as my own life ebbs away. . . .

Goodbyes





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo by Loc Dang on Unsplash
Photo by Loc Dang on Unsplash


My wife, Donna, had a thing that she told me about several times. It was a recurring dream in which she was killed in an automobile accident when she was thirty five years old.

I tried to reassure her that it was only a dream and not to dwell on it. On October 5, 1983 we received a phone call at about 10:00 pm that Beverly, her older sister, had been killed in a single car accident. It still pains me to think of that night. Beverly was thirty seven years old, Donna was thirty five. . . .

Adventures In The Green Truck





Ronnie Dee


 
(c) Copyright 2026 by Ronnie Dee


Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


One drunken night in the Pub Steakhouse, closing time came and as often happened, I still wasn't ready to call it a night. It was 2:00, but the only person left to party with was some old guy with whom I had conversed off and on during the evening. I didn't even know his name, but it didn't matter if he wanted to drink some more, so off we went in his car. . . .




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