Stories (143/0)
Until We Meet Again
____________________________ Sunset strokes its golden fingers across the misty isle, sweet an soft as fae fingers meltin intae sommery hand-spun vanilla ice cream on a blà th grianach day. As a fae, A cannot be caucht doin such a thin, runnin ma fingers intae frosty cauld desserts. But thon's no the point. Whit's important is sundoon's gone golden i the hichlands! The low poke o gray an dreary is trapped beneath layers o blissful sunlicht. Dae ye know whit this means? Ryan moment's nere at hand. True love will find the bonnie lass! An forevermore, she'll recount the day for its perfect. Gather round. Quiet now an listen i. Discover whit unfolds wi a gentle nudge from the fae, bi which A mean me. Gin awthing goes tae plan, A'll graduate tae fou fledgit fae godmother bi mornin!
By Christy Munsonabout 17 hours ago in Fiction
- Top Story - April 2024
Reaching OutTop Story - April 2024
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson7 days ago in Fiction
Paint and Weave
Author's Notes: I rediscovered my 1980's poetry magnets box and in it were two poems I find compelling. I recall having challenged myself to create two poems using the same set of words. These two poem are what spilled out. Which one resonates more with you, version A or B? Leave it in Comments. I'd love to know your thoughts!
By Christy Munson7 days ago in Poets