Breathe -----Flash Fiction

Breathe. That was the first word James ever said to me. Just like that. Nothing else. Then he was just a solid wall of comfort sitting beside me while I sobbed.

That was James in a nutshell, loving, giving, open hearted. One day that heart simply stopped. Mid stride on the golf course. He fell hard enough to make a dent in the wet turf.

I buried his ashes in the park near the creek. Just lifted some velvety moss and watered him in.

There's no marker, it's technically an illegal grave. I didn't ask permission.

He walked that path almost every day for forty years, letting it feed his soul. I can't imagine anyone begrudging him lying underneath it now and returning the favor.

The dent where he fell eventually filled itself in. Time marching on.

Time marches to a different drummer for me.

Wearing the orange handle [or] A sad tale of decaf –micro fiction

Stretching catlike, low moans escape as muscles release pent up tension.

Yoga as a substitute for sex is like ground acorns substituting for coffee beans; it kinda looks the same but lacks that certain something.

Nine little words to paint you a picture.....

scorching
simmering
sizzling
smoking
smoldering
steaming
sweaty
white-hot

Ablaze

click on "Ablaze" to see the end result