Tag Archives: winter



the un-decibel.
so silent it hums.
what isn’t.
right before the storm.
that falling, grasping, shhh.
when the mind has slowed.
the breath has caught.
a glacier melting not groaning yet.
not fracturing or breaking.
or crashing.
not sighing or even exhaling.
what lands between two beats.
goes undetected.
disappears when the foot falls.


The Driveway (100)


This image was provided by Madison Woods as inspiration for the Friday Fictioneers

Growing up, I lived in a house with a driveway stretching long and uphill to the main road. It was a streak of pavement that turned bright and dark after snow dusted it and sun melted dust to black. When snow was heavy, I wore boots and learned to shovel it in two strips with my Dad.

But sometimes ice settled anyway. If guests couldn’t drive themselves out, it was my Mom who came out to sit upright behind their wheel. We pushed, of course, but my Mom could drive out of anything – which is probably a metaphor for something.

For more flashes prompted by this photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and go exploring.