Yes, real furniture is made to last; as long as the stories that it can tell, as beautiful as the light and laughter and love it absorbs over the years. Perhaps your rocker with your sister surrounds her with memories of you. That’s no bad thing. I am glad you liked these, and may your reflections bring you contentment and smiles.
I’m very glad this form calls out to you, too. There are stories in each of these rocking chairs, more than I’ll ever know. But for now, I will enjoy them, poetry sketchbook in my lap. Thank you very much for reading these.
1. The Child’s Rocker
Three brown-eyed brothers shared with me their books:
Babar, Just so Stories, Winnie-the-Pooh,
tucked into one of several cozy nooks;
but each of them, in time, my size outgrew,
while passing years abused my modest looks
and so it seemed my usefulness was through.
From dusty attic rescued recently,
I’m waiting for a boy to read to me.
2. The Black Painted Rocker
I’m used to babies
You’re very kind to comment on A to Z. It’s really nice to know there are new readers still coming to know Andy, Zander, and the many others whose lives they touched. If you enjoyed the story, that’s what matters most to me. Thank you for reading.
I love your bird studies. They are so very true to experience. Woodpeckers often rule the feeders, and your words bring that to life.
Your meditation on love in the predawn light made me smile.
Beautifully written.
Adam has to move on from Kevin; you give us reason to think he might. There is plenty to distract him, including Connor who values discretion as much as Becker himself. But just how Golden is that discretion? Kevin’s example... oh hell, he can’t let Kevin go, not really. Well done.
Thank you, @northie, for writing a story so close to the reality many of us face, or must face one day. Thank you, @Timothy M., for this review, giving an excellent story and writer a better look.
Taken together, these meditations on laughter and sound and silence left me needing quiet time to think and digest. So many phrases captured my mind; skittering tinkle, God’s laughter, expressions manipulated into fortress walls. Well done.
You paint a vibrant picture very few actually see; the boredom and grey of Calvin’s existence is unexpected. What would have to occur to change his path?
No, not straight, but hurting and unhealed. Not that Kenny knew any of this, how could he? But he might have been more compassionate; less quick to rush to judgement.