Christmas Eve. I’m in my car, trying to sleep, when the sound of Karen Carpenter singing makes me sit up. I unzip my sleeping bag, wipe condensation from the windscreen and there she is, standing under a streetlight, not thirty… Continue Reading
Tree sap popped inside the fireplace. Head slumped in a sagging recliner as old and rumpled as himself, Nathan Fletcher’s mind fixed on another Christmas. “Evening in Paris,” he muttered. “What, Grandpa?” Bailey’s thumbs skipped atop a pink Game Boy.… Continue Reading
The little Angel sat on a sturdy branch half way up the biggest tree in the little wood — despondent. The persistent rain drizzled down the back of her best white gown. She hated rain — it made her wings… Continue Reading