Broken Wings

The bird didn’t fly away like I expected it would as I drove towards it. It floundered, fluttering in the middle of the road. I kept thinking, “It’ll fly,” as I slowed down. But it didn’t. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw it, its feathers scattered around it. “I should have stopped,” I thought. …

Do You Miss Me?

When Lori’s dad died six years ago, some friends gave her a small, stone bench with the inscription, “A father holds a child’s hand for a while…their hearts forever.”  We placed it beneath a tree, in the shade, within a few feet of our garden. From time to time, I’ve sat there, if only for a …