by Eve Orndoff
Had we been so battered by the debris of violence on the nightly news that we trivialized this personal tragedy? Had time and distance eroded the feelings we once held in our hearts for our playmate and whipping boy? Or did we still resent his childhood goodness, strong against our own shabby behavior? I could not then, and cannot now, find any comfortable answers.
Headed for the Shore
by Freedom Smith
Candy telephoned later that night. Josh was in the hospital. His mother had called her and told her that Josh had leukemia. We never knew because he didn't want us to know.
by Bethanie Johnson
The sound of water and soft voices in the green marble room made me wish for sleep. In the center of the room stood a fountain, the statue of a woman, tall and graceful, head and hands upturned toward the sky. With the light shining up from below, reflecting against her water skin, she glowed like an emerald.
Copyright © 1999 Moondance: Celebrating Creative Women