There was an odd quietness in the house, a stillness I could only describe as beautiful.
Category: Original Fiction
You’re supposed to be the littlest. You were yesterday.
I have a five-year-old. She’s fierce and stubborn. She’s sweet and empathetic.
If you stand in the Newnes glowworm tunnel, you can almost hear the old steam locos roaring through.
Granted, my three year old daughter looks adorable in Afro-Puffs.
The coyote pups have got bold, come right beside the porch near sundown. Gives me someone to talk to, I suppose.
The September he started first grade, my son cried every morning.
From the starting gun, the 400-meter dash looked all wrong.