Four Thirty

Time stops in the dark. Before dawn, it yawns and stretches. Putters. Lingers. Moseys. Puts on coffee. And sits. Waits. Makes room. I remember endless time before clocks and counting, when the first day of school and the last were drawn out like Highway 16, Macon to Savannah. Nowyearscram instead of   c   r   a   w… Continue reading Four Thirty

Making Room

I sat at the gate, sweating, praying that the Uber driver coming would be female. It was muggy-hot, like the air needed a good rinsing, and I chugged my Smart Water. The sky had clouded up since I’d sat down, a few raindrops on the sidewalk were disappearing. We’d had a little mix up about… Continue reading Making Room