humanity
Humanity begins at home.
My Mom's Green Thumb
My mother’s green thumb couldn’t be surpassed by many. Oh, I’m sure there are horticulturists and botanists that study this kind of thing, but to her it was as natural as breathing. Her yard was full of shade trees, fruit trees, plants of every kind from bromeliads to kalanchoe. She knew the best ways to keep the rabbits away from her blueberries. This solution was to sit outside at night and throw rocks at the rabbits when they come for her blueberries. A couple of nights of this, and there were no more bun-buns around.
By Barb Dukeman5 years ago in Families
Our Time
OurTime I have a name - but there are no fancy letters and numbers following it on any diplomas that hang with perfect precision on my off-white walls. I have no diplomas that announce my credibility in the field of Memories and their influence on you. And I have not sat through endless debates and lectures on the subjects of Psychology or Psychiatry at any of the prestigious Universities that dust the earth like fall snow in the White Mountains. I am just like you, I have lived and loved and learned through experience. I am now 52-years-old but sometimes not a day over 12 and other times I am 91 and wonder how I can possibly go on.
By Karlo Asko 5 years ago in Families
Jane
Jane's breath stung like fire on the way into her lungs and expelled like smoke as it departed her lips. There was a sharp bite waiting in the cold night air. Around her, shapes stalked in the shadows. Treacherously her imagination made them into frightening things, bears, wolves, ghosts. With a little bit of effort on her part, she reasoned the shapes back into the spare tractor wheel, a stack of hay and an engine draped in canvas. It was late autumn 1926 in Paddock Wood, Kent, England.
By C.L.E Webster5 years ago in Families
The Betrayal
Ian had been walking for what felt like days. In truth he’d been walking for only a few hours. He had been crossing fields and walking down paths muttering to himself along the way. He had never felt so little and so betrayed. Having placed so much trust in a single person only to have a harsh reality smack him in the face.
By Tim Lawson5 years ago in Families
I may be Home
I may be home, but I know what it's like to watch someone struggle to leave their family to go off to the military. I know what it feels like to cry each night because you get a feeling your sister is struggling. I know what it feels like to wait for that phone to ring and it be the person you are missing, I know what it feels like to be the sister, and girlfriend writing letters each night while crying and trying to be strong for them, I know what it's like to wait for that letter not knowing if you will get it or not. I know what it feels like when you think they have forgetten all about you.
By Audrey DeLong5 years ago in Families
Little Light
I can't seem to stop the burning rising to my throat from my lungs, I can't stop running though, not until I reach Mary's barn house. The dead leaves and fallen rotted bark already found their way through the tender skin of my bare feet. If I risk looking back it may give him enough time to catch up, I'll have to check on them tomorrow.
By Bobby Jackson 5 years ago in Families
The Painting on the Wall
Woodburn, WV, October, 1864 Ruby had just finished her evening prayers and was about to pick up the oil lamp to go upstairs to her bedroom when some noise outside, on the porch, made her freeze on the spot. Alert, not daring to breathe, she listened as something slid just outside her door.
By Sylvie Gagné5 years ago in Families
Shelter in the field
The tents spread out over night like white mushroom caps - more and more emerged each day of the week. Sofia went out into the morning field, shrouded in a dove-colored haze. She tried to make out the canvas peaks of the tents, far away on the edge of the steppe, when suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure creeping in the predawn mist. The figure moved quickly, often looking around, emerging and disappearing between the stalks. Sofia bent down and looked around: There was an old barn nearby, perhaps they spent the night there, and now was heading to the circus, but why so early? When the figure was completely out of sight, Sofia moved towards the old barn. Gently stepping on the damp earth, she went to the dilapidated doors and opened them with a crunch. "-Mama?" a small voice said. Confused by the unexpected presence of a child, Sofia quickly closed the door, and heard soft sobs inside the barn. She put her ear to the door and said quietly: "Who are you?" The sobs subsided for a moment and the voice replied: "I am Yakub, and who are you?" Sofia opened the door and peered in with one eye. She couldn't see anything at all in the purple gloom and asked: "Has your mom left?" "I don't know" -the boy replied- "But Agata will bring me bread." And he sighed deeply and uneasily. "May I come in?" Sofia asked. "Do you have a gun?" as if by chance inquired the child. “I don’t have a gun ..” Sofia answered confused. "Then come in!" He exclaimed delighted.
By Salomé Saffiri5 years ago in Families
The Old Tin Barn
The dilapidated tin barn, half-collapsed and damaged extensively by every element over the course of its long life, blocked out the light from the setting sun as it descended on the Wyoming horizon. No one was around to witness it, the way the orange sunbeams curled around the perforated sheets of metal and rotted wooden beams, the squirrel nests and cobwebs nestled in the rafters. The sun went down quietly, and the only sounds were of the stream bubbling gently along down the hill and a solitary wolf howling mournfully somewhere in the distance. Before long, the sun was gone, and the world was black.
By cade gilbreath5 years ago in Families
