A good number of years ago, family and friends had gathered together at Mt. Airy Farms, just South of Mount Jackson, to watch the biannual steeplechase horse races. Continue reading A Perfect Day
There’s a woman in town who now spends her days confined within the walls of a convalescent home. She’s well known to many a local, not by name or relation, but as that old black woman who’s always walking the streets alone. Continue reading Alone in a Crowd
AOn almost every Sunday at 101 South Church Street., there was a family meal being served. This was the home of Ralph and Emma Lambert. Theirs was the classic Southern marriage, one that would endure over sixty-five years here on Earth. Hard-working and living within their means, they had raised a large family in such a small house. Work was Monday through Friday or Saturday, Church was every Sunday morning. Continue reading Dinner Time
My young Goddaughter gave me a book several years ago full of writing prompts to inspire me simply because she knew that I liked to write. Tonight, as I flipped through the book and shrugged at the various topics, it dawned on me that I should write about her, a favorite subject of mine and all the prompting I’ll ever need. Continue reading A Non-Lyrical Ode to Rachel
How can a child look at little black ants crawling up and down the bark of a tree and become so fascinated?
There was a Man and a Woman. And there were ex-wives and ex-husbands. And there were friends and family giving the Man and Woman their advice on how the world should be. There were work conflicts and roommates with different points of view and there were bills to be paid.
And in the middle of it all was a Little Girl. Continue reading The Innocence of Children
Being a white boy, who grew up in the sticks of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, I’ve had the privilege of kissing many a young woman, yet only three of them were black. Continue reading Sylvia