By Firelight
By Firelight The fireside fiddler always played to the moon, while raccoons and kittens and mice sweetly swooned, her spirit shone bright, under twinkling starlight, til her strings were dampened by dew. J.M.Rogers
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Lady Teal
Lady Teal J.M.Rogers The wind slides lazily through the car window as I listen to the palmetto leaves slap against one another. They dot the landscape as far as the eye can see, jutting out from the ground like the tops of submerged palms. I wave to them absently, their fronds bobbing back and forth down the eternal line. They appear to wave back, but it is hard to know the intentions of plants. A small woman, elderly and brightly dressed, makes her way down the sidewalk, clipping the tip of every palmetto fan with an outstretched left hand. She is playing in her own mind, the lines of her face turned upward in that cheerful abandon you often find in old women who reside in beachfront bungalows. She works her legs quickly, propelling her thick arms and generous belly ever southward. It seems fitting to her frame; the weight, as if she has somehow found physical perfection by abandoning her own vanity. She takes comfort in her walking, her posture projecting the dog...