Peggy Stanley
Stories (6/0)
Someone to Care
The misty breeze off the ocean whipped strands of hair across Angie’s face. She breathed in the salty spray as she stared out to the horizon, watching the swells grow larger and finally tumble over in a cap of foam. A large wave came up almost to her toes, causing Axel to yip and tug at the leash. He was itching to run free and romp in the water. As the wave rolled back out, the rocks tumbled over each other, a sound that only the ocean can make; a sound that Angie loved. Angie had grown up camping at La Push and Kalaloch on Washington’s rugged Northern coastline. Pristine white, sandy beaches were fine, but the craggy, wild shorelines of the La Push beaches had always called to her. It was her happy place and now, also her place of anguish. Angie closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She didn’t really want to keep reliving the worst day of her life, but she couldn’t stop the images once they started. It was early April, the same as it was now, the same time that Angie had come for the last ten years. Unlike today, where the sun was glistening off the water and warming Angie’s face, that April was cold and windy and raining. The ocean was churning and roiling and angry. There were piles of driftwood everywhere and more logs being tossed around in the waves. By the third day, the skies stopped dumping, and the wind slowed a bit - thank goodness. She and Jon had packed for the possibility of bad weather and stuffed their little trailer with a myriad of games and projects to keep four-year-old Sophie occupied during a rainy day, but they had all reached their limit by the time the storm let up.
By Peggy Stanley2 years ago in Fiction
Dahlia and Gertie
Wendy stood on the back porch surveying the frosty landscape. The days were getting warmer now, late February in Western Washington, but winter wasn’t quite ready to give spring the upper hand. She buttoned up her fleece jacket, already feeling the stretch over her slightly expanding belly. “Hey there little one, let’s go out and check on Dahlia and Gertie.” She knew the cows were fine, but she just loved being in the barn. It was her place of solace, where she destressed. It had always been her refuge since she was a little girl. As she stepped off the porch, she heard the screech of a barn owl – a sound she’d known her whole life. Wendy’s mother had died when she was only three and her grandparents had raised her, right here on this farm. Her grandfather was a veterinarian, a real country vet. He had a small clinic on the farm, but he most often drove out to neighboring farms to care for the myriad of critters that could be found throughout the countryside of Carnation, Washington. He frequently took Wendy along, and she was sure she was going to grow up and be a vet, just like her papa. She smiled as the memories flitted through her mind like a silent film. She remembered the first time she watched a calf being born and when her grandfather let her rescue and bottle feed an abandoned baby squirrel. She remembered holding her breath as her grandpa vigorously rubbed down a newborn foal until it finally took its first breath, the mother horse neighing urgently and pacing back and forth. Knowing she was soon going to bring new life into the world seemed to bring a new poignancy to these memories.
By Peggy Stanley2 years ago in Fiction
Maggie's Garden
Carl stood in front of the kitchen window and noticed his reflection through the steam from his coffee. The landscape, he thought, seemed to reflect his soul – bleak, frozen, and lifeless. He could see his neighbors flashing Christmas lights mirrored on the snow and grunted in disgust. He glanced out to the garden and saw the snow heaped on the unpruned rose bushes and Maggie’s chair. He swallowed the last of his coffee and added the mug to the pile of dishes in the sink.
By Peggy Stanley2 years ago in Fiction