Echo
The old photo equipment was a gem—and a steal. Setting up an old-school darkroom for his granddaughter was just the thing to connect with her. “She’s not broken,” he’d tell his son (her father), “She’s an artist. Such an eye, she has.” The estate sale marked the end of the line for the family some said had been oligarchs in the old country. He didn’t know about that. But one of them, at least, must have photographed for a living, or as a hobby, and they’d kept the old equipment clean. So it was a surprise when setting up, the girl found a negative left behind in the enlarger. But the bigger surprise was the subject—an echo from a very dangerous time…
Dark Waters
Against his will, the water drew him. It was dangerous to go there—to be seen there. But there he was, hoping what he’d lost—or maybe cast away—would come back to him...
Garden of Whispers
She wasn’t the only muse or angel or whatever, but when I walked the garden, she was the one who most often grabbed my attention. Trouble was, once she had it, she went quiet. Only by looking past her—listening past her, to the patter of rain or the sparrow calling—only then could I hear her. Humming or whispering a passage from her book or winging gently, anxious to lead me away, she did. Just need to play it cool…
The Drop
They’re fucking with me. Leave the money here? Under a sign for The Drop? A little on-the-nose, don’t you think? Why not just sell it? Holding artwork for ransom seemed like just another trending crime, until it was mine—lifted right off my wall. Irreplaceable, like a spouse or a child might be, I suppose. I finger the envelope in my pocket and I think about my precious in the hands of some ingrate. Her grace and her depth. And her market value. I’m unaccustomed to having the lesser hand...
Erosion
Belief is one of those things—like parenting or caution—that sits atop a pile of notions about how the world works. So, when some of those notions fractured and fell away, Sister Grace had to reassess. Creation isn’t always adding things. Sometimes it’s taking things away. She was holding the artifact so tightly, when it left her hand--if it left her hand—it would leave a deep impression on her palm…
Echo
The old photo equipment was a gem—and a steal. Setting up an old-school darkroom for his granddaughter was just the thing to connect with her. “She’s not broken,” he’d tell his son (her father), “She’s an artist. Such an eye, she has.” The estate sale marked the end of the line for the family some said had been oligarchs in the old country. He didn’t know about that. But one of them, at least, must have photographed for a living, or as a hobby, and they’d kept the old equipment clean. So it was a surprise when setting up, the girl found a negative left behind in the enlarger. But the bigger surprise was the subject—an echo from a very dangerous time…
Dark Waters
Against his will, the water drew him. It was dangerous to go there—to be seen there. But there he was, hoping what he’d lost—or maybe cast away—would come back to him...
Echo
The old photo equipment was a gem—and a steal. Setting up an old-school darkroom for his granddaughter was just the thing to connect with her. “She’s not broken,” he’d tell his son (her father), “She’s an artist. Such an eye, she has.” The estate sale marked the end of the line for the family some said had been oligarchs in the old country. He didn’t know about that. But one of them, at least, must have photographed for a living, or as a hobby, and they’d kept the old equipment clean. So it was a surprise when setting up, the girl found a negative left behind in the enlarger. But the bigger surprise was the subject—an echo from a very dangerous time…
Dark Waters
Against his will, the water drew him. It was dangerous to go there—to be seen there. But there he was, hoping what he’d lost—or maybe cast away—would come back to him...
Garden of Whispers
She wasn’t the only muse or angel or whatever, but when I walked the garden, she was the one who most often grabbed my attention. Trouble was, once she had it, she went quiet. Only by looking past her—listening past her, to the patter of rain or the sparrow calling—only then could I hear her. Humming or whispering a passage from her book or winging gently, anxious to lead me away, she did. Just need to play it cool…