John posted the hay-man in his front yard. But, still, a man climbed in the back window and ate of his wife’s seed.
Two lovers in a rowboat. My wife and her assistant. Their lake is oil dark, still, but dangerous. Like me.
Dad’s gone again. In a rage, Mom tears up his photo. But then we try to put the pieces back together, afraid that he might never come back.
After 10 years, she expected nothing from him. When a bouquet arrived for her, she beamed. She went home and kissed him. He had no idea why.
He gave her red roses on their first date and sixty years later he lays roses at her grave. The flowers wilt, as does he without her.
Roland slipped silently below the waves. Gwen smiled and thought about the wind and which direction to sail, her new life a close reach.