As the fog rolled over the mossy green hills, the indigo hue of the sun rising over the fields warmed my face with the flush of an involuntary smile. I sat wrapped in my wool quilt in my grandfather’s rocking chair on the front porch. The wind was blowing with a soft roar that morning; …
The sand is cool between your toes as the grimy bits grind into the soft parts between the big and the index and the roughness of the bottom of your feet feel far insufficient compared to the grit beneath you, while the tops remain lit by the full moon that towers off your right shoulder …
A deadful dread – to see someone else living my dream. What else could be greater torture? To live alone is time of silence, To live in pain is intimacy with perseverance, To live in darkness is hope of light. But to have lived in fear… Is to have wielded a shield of selfishness, …
The itty-bitty lifeboat set out from its mothership on March the 4th. Unannounced to its passengers, the ship had begun sinking 21 days prior due to a hole in the main hull, which was unfortunately situated directly in the lettering of its name. Few passerby had attempted to radio into the ship to alert her …
I tie the final knot on my left New Balance and shuffle out the back door, greeted by dripping humidity. It’s one of those classic Georgia August days when the air is so thick you are certain it will rip open any minute and leave you drenched in putrid, hot rainwater. That’s not quite its …
Thereupon a midnight shore came riding a man in silver mail. From where he had come, none could say, But all the camp looked to bay. There the rider failed to speak a welcome, but shimmered like a sunlit sail. For what was his purpose, few could wonder, But all the gossip rose in …
Here I stand on the cliff of the ocean. Below me is the crumbling limestone leading down and down for leagues to the roaring deep waters below. They crash and they spray Up the face of the cliff and into mine. The cliffs extend for what seems like forever along the coast. For what …
The sand is cool between your toes as the grimy bits grind into the soft parts between the big and the index and the roughness of the bottom of your feet feel far insufficient compared to the grit beneath you, while the tops remain lit by the full moon that towers off your right shoulder …
As the fog rolled over the mossy green hills, the indigo hue of the sun rising over the fields warmed my face with the flush of an involuntary smile. I sat wrapped in my wool quilt in my grandfather’s rocking chair on the front porch. The wind was blowing with a soft roar that morning; …
B.L. Abernathy 