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Tag Archives: Wynne Huddleston
I pick up my wine glass and see my surroundings reflected, bent, distorted, in the shine. I lose myself in the flute of some pretty soundscape playing on public radio, no clear melody, not going anywhere, just shades of colors— … Continue reading
My son arrives with a truckload of mulch and youthful muscle, begins removing the old bug-infested bark from my flower bed. Summer sun sucks perspiration from his young body. I slather sun screen on my pre-cancerous old skin, take cover … Continue reading
She began to live, when she began to die. The frost was long gone; it was the end of spring. Daffodils had shed their withered yellow heads, and were replaced by a hearty old variety of red rosebuds. Pregnant white … Continue reading
I miss the loft upstairs in my house that burned, I tell you while we look at pictures of your condo in California. One day we’ll live in a house with three stories and an elevator, you say, confidently, almost … Continue reading
There you go in your little red sports car 100 miles an hour, no seatbelt; I met you in my used Toyota, driving the limit. You work on computer parts, engines and wood chippers; I write poetry and play the … Continue reading