“I don’t care how it works,” she sneered.
He coiled the cord up meticulously. “You should.”
She threw a hand dismissively. “It works. Who cares why?”
The plug swung tick-tock. He wiped his bald pate with a handkerchief.
She wasn’t looking. Engrossed in her own little world. Continue reading Power
To ride the divide between up here and down there, a boat crafted by shipwrights of old, newly found. From the ground, once buried, now she serves as a clue. Continue reading Boat
Dunja carried her baskets of fresh flowers to the cathedral courtyard each day. She prayed that God would forgive her.
People had forgotten. Many had drifted or passed on. The youngsters didn’t seem to know the flower lady’s secrets.
Customers came by each day. They visited the cathedral and bought her small colorful bouquets. Yellows, whites. Carnations, roses. Pinks, reds. Lilies, asters.
It was a peaceful existence. She listened to their stories. Flowers for a wedding, a girlfriend. Sometimes a grave. Or sometimes a candle to burn in remembrance. Dunja shuddered, never told. Continue reading Flower Seller
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