Pamela Walsh-Holte
Bio
Retired social worker seaking to find my name among the "Chreators we are Loving", but alas it has not been so. Be still my heart, do not despair, your day may come...Until then I wait, anticipating some, be it ever so slight, recognition.
Achievements (1)
Stories (68/0)
"60 Second Seduction"
The traffic light flashed from green to yellow, "dang I was hoping I would make that light" she states out loud, to no-one. As she eases to a stop she glances to her right, when the driver next to her literally took her breath away, her face began to sweat a sure sign she was blushing. How could she have been so lucky to have missed the green!
By Pamela Walsh-Holte14 days ago in Fiction
Peanut Butter Syrup Toast
As the heat slowly drifts from the toaster t0 warm my cheeks, I anticipate my treat, and I can hardly wait, Nestled in the chrysalises of the toaster, my white bread becomes a golden brown. The pop of the toaster is my favorite sound as Grandma lifts it from the toaster onto my plate.
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a month ago in Poets
"The Weekend"
She arrived home to four inches of freshly fallen snow. The thought of a warm fire and a hot toddy made her smile. She looked forward to a weekend of solitude and relaxation. Alex was out of town until Monday and the thought of not having to fight for the remote or listen to his sports blasting on the radio was bliss. Besides she wouldn't start to miss him until then anyway. As she opened her front door Buster came running, as he always did.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte3 months ago in Fiction
"Tough is a Mother's Love"
She woke to the sound of pounding on her front door. She could hear dispatch on their radios. Heart racing, as is her mind, all she can think is something really bad has happened, why else would the police be at her door in the middle of the night?
By Pamela Walsh-Holte3 months ago in Fiction
"The Truth in a Snowflake"
Have you ever heard a snowflake? If you listen carefully you can, waking me, they whispered, we are falling, falling fast, reaching a crescendo that will not last. You know they will never lie. I know this to be true. I sat in awe of their beauty as they fell last night, while they soothed my broken soul. With the melody in their song, they sang me back to sleep. I looked for them when I awoke, there was not one to be seen. How can such beauty disappear, leaving not a trace? Instead, a tear runs down my face sent in the snowflake's place.
By Pamela Walsh-Holte3 months ago in Fiction
