Stride, stride, stride in rhythm, thunder, lightning, falling rain. Sky dark bursts of water, soggy, wet, boggy, cold Slow, slow, slow on reaching shelter, comfort, hearth and home Build a fire, light it quick, make a pyre, a righteous pile Of all that grieves, grieves, grieves a dark heart, A burdened heart, weighed with sorrows, like bombs exploding In black bursts of regret, regret, regret no solace yet. Slowly warmth creeps through the air, beauty erupts in licks of varicolored flame. Familiar objects tug, tug, tug at memory, Filled with thoughts of times past when life was ours, and freedom.
Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.
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Monica's Monday Morning Flash 