Jellyfish

“Do it again,”  the kids yell.  They crowd around as my husband leans over the side of the dock and traces his hand through the water.  Flashes of green spark in the water.  We all bend toward the water and splash our fingers, making trails of color in the dark. “Bioluminescence,” my husband says and…

Over the Hills

She resolved not to cry. Not then. Not  ever. No matter what he did. He could be mean as he wanted, smash everything into a million little pieces. “Mustangs are not orange,”  her sister said, wagging her finger at her.  It was that blank time between Christmas and New Years and they were on their…

After the Snowy Day

When they wake in the morning the fire has died and frost covers the window panes. New snow  blankets the ground outside.  The woman and her husband and the boy push themselves out of bed. The man makes a fire while she boils water for breakfast.  They drink coffee and hot chocolate, wrapping their hands around…