Dawn
The first shaft of luminous light
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Issue: <span>January/February 2006</span>
The first shaft of luminous light
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A large hand wiped the tears from Tom's small red eyes. "Don't worry, son," he smiled, "I swear we'll come back." Tom hoped so, with all of his eight-year-old heart. But it still hurt so much to watch his father and brother go off to war. Even though President Lincoln needed soldiers, Tom still puzzled over why it had to be his family.
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A large hand wiped the tears from Tom's small red eyes. "Don't worry, son," he smiled, "I swear we'll come back." Tom hoped so, with all of his eight-year-old heart. But it still hurt so much to watch his father and brother go off to war. Even though President Lincoln needed soldiers, Tom still puzzled over why it had to be his family.
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The first shaft of luminous light
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I remember the days before Ms. Brown. That was all before everything, with the snow, the stories, and the grove on Grady Hill. Those were the times when school was the hardest, and the days stretched on like counting down the minutes till New Year's. But as I flip through film reels reading things like "Mattie's First Birthday-1945" and "Christmas—1952" those times seem like just yesterday.
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Mountain Solo, by Jeanette Ingold;
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Mae Trillian has always lived a fairly simple life. Nothing brought her more pleasure than perfect, small simplicities—a tall glass of cold, crystalline water full of chinking ice cubes, the noise of a lead pencil as it scratched the surface of a crisp sheet of paper. The sound of the wind amongst a forest of stately trees and the perfect poise of a single flower as it makes its incredible journey from tiny seed to glorious blossom brought the greatest joy to Mae's heart. That, and of course the delightful thing called writing where one can pour out one's soul onto a piece of paper. Where intricate worlds are created by the touch of a pencil's tip, and characters' lives unfold into brilliant stories of intrigue and romance.
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We were lying in a circle, curled up on a den of sleeping bags, pillows and blankets. Popcorn and candy wrappers were scattered all around, remnants of that night's feeding fest, while we had, oblivious to all else, watched our movie selection, comprised mostly of films featuring Orlando Bloom. But now the TV was silent, and most of us had migrated off the couch and living room chairs to our sleeping bags. We lounged around, nonchalant, waiting for the quietest part of night when the hostess's brother was sure to be asleep.
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“It's going to be cold," laughed Riley. "I'm warning you, when I took the swim test, I almost froze. They had to defrost me."
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The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight,
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