The sound of droplets falling to the ground was heard.

I saw them collecting on the window pane.

like a tear collecting in the corner of a single eye,

Sliding down

like a stream of broken dreams, dissipating, slipping away.

Outside, orange crocuses popped out of the ground

making merry on a spring-like day.

In other places, people died alone, in pain, before their time.

A sad day was yesterday.

By Tiffany Creek

The Same Way

The Same Way

People don’t  always see things in the same light.  Reactions will differ, from something to nothing at all.  Even in seeing a blade of grass. The same blade of grass in a sea of millions of other blades, an observer might ask: why are you looking at that blade of grass? -singular, like yourself. – And if you choose to answer them they still may not understand.  You simply have to move on.

Live to tell it.

An old story, written in August.

Sometimes you just have to get it off your chest.  Get it out of your mind by writing it down, before you forget.  What I have to say is not earth shattering, drastic, or anything of the kind.  It’s about a face to face conversation (getting rarer and rarer) I had today, with a human being.

You may or may not have noticed, I like names, and when I see someone wearing a name tag and it seems unique to me, I ask: “Is there a story to your name?”  This was the case with Willow, a few weeks ago, and now again today.  If the story is boring to you, you can stop reading right now.  I won’t care one iota.  The point of my rapping out letters and words on the computer right now is that I must tell you about the girl at the grocery story whose name tag read “Lotus.”   You must admit that’s a very unusual name.  I never met anyone name Lotus, (Have you?) so as she rang up the items and I emptied my cart, I asked;  “Is there a story to your name?”  What do you think she said?  Of course, she said “Yes!” and proceeded to say that when she was born, she was given the name Isabella, because that’s what her father wanted her to be named.  But, her mother begged to differ, and she wanted to name her Lotus.  The girl then informed me that a lotus is a flower (which I already knew, but pretended I didn’t). Her mother knew that the lotus grows in water and pushes itself from the depths of mud below the surface, and blooms into a beautiful blossom.  (I didn’t know the part about the mud).  So the mother and father agreed that their daughter would be named Isabella Lotus, and the checkout girl said she elected to sign with Lotus, because true to the characteristic of the flower, she used to play in the mud, when small, and was always pulling herself up and out of the gooey brown stuff.  It seemed only right that she should go by Lotus. (No offense to her dad.)  I said to her “I bet you get that question a lot about your name.”  She said, “Actually, no.”  I wondered why people weren’t more curious, or maybe not everybody is as gutsy as I am to ask strangers personal questions.  By the time she was done with her story, she finished checking out all my things, and she and I worked merrily, naturally placing items  into the reusable bags I had brought in, and agreeing this thing went better in this bag than the other, that we should lighten up one bag putting the eggs and bread on top, so they wouldn’t get squished and broken.  Finally, when Lotus got to the end, and I had paid, she said she felt really good as she energetically pulled the receipt out of the machine to give to me, and asked if I needed any help carrying my groceries out.  I said “No, thank you.”  She said she has to ask everyone the same question even if they have only one thing.  Store policy!  She didn’t mind though.  I bade good bye, and she told me to have a nice day.


April, in April

I met a girl, or a young woman, I should say, this April.  She checked me out at the grocery store, and as she did so, I noticed her name.  “April!”  I thought, I’ve never met anyone named “April” in April, before, and I told her so.  She said she was born on the 30th of April, and that’s how she got her name.  It happened again, a woman named “Willow” crossed my way, yesterday. She didn’t say how she got her name.

I happen to like names of people, for months, or flowers, or even trees.  There’s May, June, Julie for July, and Augusto, for August.  Not sure if I’ve met anyone named September, October, or November, December, January, or February, either.  And never March! Tuesday I’ve heard, and Summer, as well. Rose, Ivy, and Wishing Well.

Seems a Victorian custom, to me.  Then, the Industrial Revolution came.  You don’t come across anyone named Brick, Cement Mixer, or Hammer, or Nail, or Screw Driver, for that matter.  Now in the 21st century, you never meet anyone, named, Hard Drive, or Soft Ware.  What will the future bring?  Mother Nature still rules the Universe.


A Story, for St. Patrick’s Day

I am posting this story, in honor of my son, the author. He didn’t grow up to be an all-star basketball play, as stated in his biography, but he still enjoys playing the the sport, for recreation.  The original book that this appeared in was illustrated, by him, when he was 10 years old.  It was kept in a file cabinet that was unluckily drenched by a leaking humidifier, thus explaining the rusty appearance of the pages.  I reproduced the drawings with photography, and thought it of value to retype the script.

One Last Chance

Written and Illustrated by Francisco Bravo

Dedicated to my grandpa, and Ben.


I woke up early on a Saturday morning.  Right when I got out of the shower and washed my face, I went outside to shoot some hoops.  Then I just remembered it was Saint Patrick’s Day.  So I decided to search for leprechauns.
I went deep into the dark woods and saw something move.  It ended up being a leprechaun.  I found the little guy near a swamp.  He had a white shirt on with shamrocks all over it.  The pants were the same only the opposite.  His hat was solid green.  The best thing was that I still had my eyes on him.
We were good friends, but we both wanted the gold.  The whole time, when I first met the leprechaun, I thought I would find the gold.  Even through all his nasty tricks, I thought I could win it.
The little leprechaun led me to a field of fresh pumpkins.  “Do you care for a beautiful orange pumpkin?” the leprechaun exclaimed.  “The pumpkin looks good, but it would be hard to carry, and you will get away because of its weight.”  I answered.  “Very well then, I will make you have more hard, exhausting troubles,” the leprechaun answered back.
The next problem came when the leprechaun led me to some rich, red-looking raspberry bushes.  “Do you care for a bag full of raspberries?”  he shouted.  “That is extremely nice of you, but I will be too tempted to look at the tasty raspberries and you will get out of my sight.”
Next we went to a tree where his gold probably was because there was an ax there.  He was ready to chop another beautiful tree for the third time when he thought of one more trick.  I had no clue what it was about.  He started telling a sad story about a boy’s mother dying in a car accident.  When he was finished telling the story I was crying tears bigger than a Tsunami tidal wave.  When I stopped crying I didn’t see a little man in his special outfit because I didn’t keep my eyes on him.  All I saw were thin strands of nice green grass!
About the Author – Francisco likes to do things with his friends.  He was born in Willimantic, Connecticut.  He goes to Annie E. Vinton Elementary School in Mansfield, Connecticut.  He has written four books in the year 1999.  His favorite hobbies are basketball, soccer, football and pool.  His plan for the future is to be an all-star basketball player.