“I cain’t trust you to do a damn thing, Jimbo,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets, one shoulder leaning against the post. Jimbo examined the ash column on the cigarette Hank held between his dry lips as he spoke. It had grown so long, Jimbo could scarcely believe it had not fallen off. “I … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.20.19
Morning Miniatures
Morning Miniature 2.19.19
From the looks of the muddy tire ruts in the yard, they’d been there recently. The screen door on the back porch had new holes in it, and as she stood there surveying the detritus strewn everywhere, hands on her hips, a dirty grey kitten climbed out through one of them effortlessly; now the kitten … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.19.19
Morning Miniature 2.18.19
All the world stretched out before you, alluring and intoxicating. The possibilities seemed infinite, really. What were those ancient, dusty tomes you once fingered, pulled gingerly from the shelves, whose pages drew you in for long hours? And what was that truth you learned, or maybe you heard it somewhere—was it a line in a … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.18.19
Morning Miniature 2.17.19
She gazed through ancient bubbled glass at the light behind the mountain, now discernible only as a warning of the coming day, but crystalline still, leaving little of the ridge to the imagination. It was glorious. There rose the peak in its imposing form, clear and perfect, but clamoring for attention with trees and roof … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.17.19
Sycamore Stories 