by Gwendolyn Garr
Her hands worked together to soap up the wash cloth. It had been forever, if ever, since she had given herself so much thought. She knew she was no different than every other woman. She knew she was participating in the existence, as was the standard for the times. She worked, had children, and did the wife thing, volunteered for all the right committees, manipulated, managed and maintained. Nothing more. That's what scared her....
The Numbered Child
by Norm Shatzoff
Fetch and I were sitting on the porch enjoying a quiet day, sunny and warm, delighted by a cool breeze that worked its way through the trees. He had bits of clay stuck to his arms, and as the sun dried them they turned gray. He brushed them off, and my eyes fell on those numbers. He caught the look.
"Ach," he said. "Now maybe you are old enough."
by Christine L. Reed
The children had been lost since the dawn of the new moon. Mahalia was frantic. She had only left them for a moment to tie together two souls that were in danger of ripping away from each other.
Copyright © 2000 Moondance: Celebrating Creative Women