The dance floor is as wide as an ocean. She sits alone, on the distant shore. Her boyfriend likely talks football with classmates. Team captain, he is. Now is my chance to ask her to dance. What if she says no? All my friend’s eyes are glued on me. Jane is Homecoming Queen. Why would she dance with me?
Although Jasmine is a barn cat, she frolics near the house. Her big belly does not deter her from playful rubs against my grandson’s leg. We stand outside Betty Johnson’s farmhouse, eager for additional delights.
My life is overrun with woodchucks. Today one sits eating seeds below the bird feeder outside the screened-in porch where I write. “Oh, I see you’ve discovered our friend,” my writing retreat host says as she brings birdseed. “She’s the big one. There are babies around as well.”
Bennie has wandered all his life. We didn’t know about this habit, or his name when we met him earlier this year.
An endless, temperate, late spring day lay before us when Dad and I stood waist deep in the cold green water of Crystal Lake. We were fishing for pan fish.
“I got another one,” Dad shouted. His fly rod arched, pointing toward the hooked sunfish that swam circles beneath the water’s glass-like surface. We had fished for a couple of hours. Dad’s creel, a fabric pouch he strapped to his waist just above water line, bulged with the day’s catch.
About the Author
Richard Wilberg is a life coach, musician, photographer, and former business leader who lives in Madison, Wisconsin.