tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49762529677230447092011-12-09T12:11:01.823-08:00He's a photographer. She's a writer. They're stepsiblings. Any questions?jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13752779296599153304noreply@blogger.comBlogger81100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-87787124844598786142007-05-14T04:28:00.000-07:002007-05-15T08:59:22.338-07:00

It was cold at night, but clear mornings would bring sunshine and heat, driving him out of the building. Heat and hunger: the persistent search for food goaded him out into the open as relentlessly as the burning metal walls.Approaching the doorway was the worst part of his day. The transition from safe, inky shadows to the harsh brightness brought fear and temporary blindness. Unable to see

brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16124736868237695613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-13418331838298919222007-03-23T16:14:00.000-07:002007-03-29T11:35:20.291-07:00

Frére a demandéHaiku écrit en Français.Je pense qu'il est fou.

jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13752779296599153304noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-8817709085438441772007-03-22T11:38:00.000-07:002007-03-22T17:02:12.307-07:00

The birds always came first. Crowding together, they chattered and complained in the haze of awakening. "Too early," said one. "Always too early," said another."Tomorrow will be better," remarked an old bird. "The warm - it comes and goes for a bit, but eventually it stays." The cheep of complaint stilled suddenly, a hushing of ruffling feathers marking respect for experience. Drowsiness

brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16124736868237695613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-25495233209700125052007-03-22T08:35:00.000-07:002007-03-22T15:29:20.550-07:00

"Could I use your phone to call Jeremy?" Rachel asked. "He's likely to forget that I'm here and that he's supposed to keep Caleb an extra night." I mentally choked on the diatribe that sprang to the back of my throat full blown. He left three years ago and you're still taking care of him! Don't encourage him to depend on you any more! I waved her to the phone, understanding that Caleb's

brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16124736868237695613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-50781273338492052062007-03-19T20:14:00.000-07:002007-03-20T11:42:05.367-07:00

"Hey!""What?""No fair - it's my turn.""But you said you liked this photo.""Yeah, but you're making me look like a slacker - I only have one 'litera' post, and here you are with three 'graphicas.'""Well - get on it then."

brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16124736868237695613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-88943825063753989682007-03-17T08:08:00.000-07:002007-03-19T19:45:28.579-07:00

As a girl, she had anticipated the rare trips to the city. New school clothes, the windows of the big department store festive and rich at Christmas, the drawn-out savoring of a sweet treat before the long ride home: the excitement leading up to these trips had sent her careening about the house until stern parental voices contained her exuberance.When she was a young woman, the promise of a date

brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16124736868237695613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-23132369269431094962007-03-05T11:51:00.000-08:002007-03-19T19:46:38.627-07:00

It had started innocently enough, the four of us sitting on the library lawn, a golden twilight evening of our seventeenth year, talking and laughing. Somebody made a joke. Someone else threw a handful of red and yellow leaves, teasing. A third escalated hostilities with a double handful. Somebody got up, and suddenly the air was full of adolescent autumn: swirling leaves, the sound of

brianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16124736868237695613noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4976252967723044709.post-9528957408485840932007-02-21T19:13:00.000-08:002007-03-19T19:47:28.226-07:00

Stillness, a small shift, a flicker of movement, stillness again. A stirring like a dancer waiting for a cue. Dry, fragile surfaces whispering as they brush against one another, a hushed expectancy.Indecision freights movement, makes each hesitant motion more important than the most focused action. An eyelid flickers, a glance slides through the blue into the light.A sudden darting, swift and

jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13752779296599153304noreply@blogger.com