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In Concert

Marie’s hands skipped across the black and white keys, spinning the staccato tones of Balakirev’s “Islamej” for a spellbound audience. Years ago, musicians had called Balakirev’s piece the “unplayable fantasy.” Nowadays, things...

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Ursus in Reverie

Alone, I sit silently searching for poachers.  Something murmurs at the far edge of hearing.  An underground spring, or perhaps a wood nymph?  This rifle seems an intrusion in this magical space, but there are...

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The Man Goes Walkabout Only in His Mind

John often scheduled trips, then changed his mind at the last minute. He’d spend hours looking at maps, photos of diners, old railway stations, Post Offices covered in kudzu, and haunted hotels (where he liked to stay). He’d...

THE CRITIC

Aiden was a rising literary critic, renowned for his fearless iconoclasm. Twain, Whitman, Kerouac, Emily Dickinson: no one was safe, the living with the dead.  On the eve of the publication of his first book, Aiden awoke to see...

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Conversations With Death

Every night, I roll over to face the empty side of my bed. In varying levels of distress, I call out to a friend. My busy friend always stops by for our chat. I beg. I plead. I offer. It’s when I attempt bribery Death laughs in...

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Pushing Grief Aside

It was difficult to attend her friend’s baby shower. How could she be joyous when she had just lost her own? Little Chloe was delivered prematurely. Her little lungs were not mature enough for her to survive. Tina had sunk into...

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Ursus in Reverie

Alone, I sit silently searching for poachers.  Something murmurs at the far edge of hearing.  An underground spring, or perhaps a wood nymph?  This rifle seems an intrusion in this magical space, but there are...

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