Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone

Author Archives: writergherlone

• One Last Moon Rise

  Posted at 1:50 pm by writergherlone, on October 11, 2017

  

   

  *My posts have been less frequent as I have been traveling and working on submissions. This is a busy time of year and I’m having a difficult time managing my time. A lot of my short stories are tied up in the submission process. But, on a side note, another short story of mine has been accepted by Edify Fiction. “The Forest Fire”, will appear on December 29. I’m working hard and hope to be more attentive in the future. 

   

  One Last Moon Rise

  by Kristy Gherlone

  When I started dating my husband back in 2013, he told me that his parent’s owned a lake house in Schroon Lake, New York. It didn’t mean much to me, at the time. I had no idea of where Schroon Lake was or how much time we would even spend there. I was still recovering from the loss of my own childhood cottage in Maine, we both had kids about to graduate, and life was busy.

  However, he wanted me to go and see it, so during the summer, not too long after we’d starting dating, he brought me there. Now, if you you recall a past story of mine, “Road Tripping”, you will remember me talking about my yearly trips to visit my grandparents in Upstate New York. Imagine my surprise when on our three and a half drive up to Schroon Lake, I started to see and recognize some of the places I visited on those trips as a kid. Fort Ticonderoga, Lake Champlain…All those old familiar names and destinations zipping by as we drove along, bringing up a whirl-wind of memories. Fort Ticonderoga was one of my favorites. I still recall the museum there; the blood stained table, where the Native Americans had slaughtered a family of settlers. Gruesome, I know, but it stuck with me, and I’d always wanted to go back and see all of those things again. And now I could. Fort Ticonderoga was only about a twenty minute drive from the Lake House.

  

  

  

  That first summer, we went up to the Lake House as much as we could. I was hooked. The nine mile lake was gorgeous, sitting right below the Adirondack Mountains.  The loons called all day and night, a sound so familiar to me, if I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was home in Maine. My husband’s parents had a boat and a wave runner. Both were fantastic for exploring the lake. The houses dotting the shore ranged from multi-million dollar estates to one room cottages. Schroon Lake was a hub for outdoor recreation and the town, small and quaint, was something out of a magazine, with it’s old-fashioned theater, town square, and Adirondack shops. We fished in the morning and evening. Dined out, barbecued, shopped, and on the Fourth of July, my husband’s father put on a fireworks show worthy of a New York City celebration. Family and friends gathered there. We had our own company up, when his parents were in Florida and sometimes even when they were not. The main house had three bed rooms, and there was a private apartment, with an additional two bedrooms. Board games, drinking, fishing, and boating, brought us many hours good times and laughter. We even visited the Natural Stone Bridge, just down the road.

  

  

  We even went up in the winter to watch the ice-fishing, and to sit by the fire and just relax and read.

  The camp itself, sat high above the water. Two long stair cases led you to the shore. It was an old-fashioned place, appearing as though it was decorated in the 1950’s, but it had charm!

  

  

  The views out front were incredible. All mountain and sky, with occasional treats such as these:

  

  

  

  It was a retreat. A place to escape to. Not too far away, but just far enough that we felt as though we were a million miles away from our responsibilities. I had come to think that it would be a place that would always be there, but life happens, and as it turns out, my husband’s mother became gravely ill in Florida over the winter. We didn’t think she’d survive. We made the trip to Florida to care for her, and she told us of their decision to sell the house at Schroon Lake. We understood. The up-keep on a place like that could be daunting. The stairs alone, to the lake, were steep and unsettling for even a youngster. She couldn’t do it anymore.

  We thought we’d have some time, but as it turned out, the place sold in less than a month. This last trip, in October, would be our last forever. My husband, not prone to nostalgia, took it in stride. His family exchanged houses quite often when he was growing up. He was used to it, but I sensed a sadness in him that made me tear up, when gazes out at our last moon rise over the lake.

  

  People, places, things; they all come into our lives and then they are gone. Sometimes too quickly. We do plan to go back, maybe at a rental, but it won’t be the same. It never is. We have plans to buy our own cottage, but it will be a few years. I will miss that place, though it wasn’t with me very long. I hate goodbyes and I’m not good with change. My heart hurts a little today for myself and for my husband, who had many more memories there than I. Goodbye, Schroon Lake. Thanks for the good times! Until we meet again.

  Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged adirondacks, camp, cottages, family, lakelife, memories, nostalgia, schroon lake, travel

• The Fire Devils

  Posted at 12:53 am by writergherlone, on September 25, 2017

  The Fire Devils

  by Kristy Gherlone

  *This is an actual photo of my outdoor fire tonight. I believe I have finally caught them in the act!

   

  Joining hands, they dance merrily in celebration of a new season’s dawning. The fire devils have arrived to rule the autumn nights and haunt my dreams while I sleep in a fitful slumber.

  Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment | Tagged autumn, campfire, dreams, fire, nightmares, shortstory, spirits

• Well Isn’t This Fancy!

  Posted at 12:19 pm by writergherlone, on September 19, 2017

  

  Well Isn’t this Fancy! (Cornish Hen recipe for important dinner guests)

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  So, you’ve decided that, even for a writer, you’ve been spending entirely too much time alone.  You think,  ‘Hey, I should host a dinner party for other writers in the area!’

  For about two minutes, you consider this thought. You picture all of those creative minds sitting around your table. Wine glass clanking, smiling, happy people, sharing ideas and reading excerpts from their latest works. Before you change your mind and retreat back into the dark cavern you call a work space, you sit down and send out a bunch of email invitations.

  Now, don’t lie. You spend the rest of the day hoping that no one will respond. At least you can say you tried, right? Except they ALL respond. Why wouldn’t they? They have been feeling just as isolated as you, and it’s a free dinner!

  You panic! What can you cook that would be worthy of such company?

  I’ve got you covered. Here’s what you do. Pre-heat the oven to 450 and follow along….

  Purchase one Cornish Hen for every dinner guest.

  Get out that Thanksgiving turkey roasting pan and coat the bottom with olive oil, salt and pepper. Toss in some sliced garlic, some fresh squeezed lemon juice, and ringlets of Shallots. Throw down some beds of fresh Thyme.

  Rinse the hens, pat dry and place into the pan in rows on top of the mess you just made. The hens can touch each other(they’re dead and won’t mind)

  Stuff each bird cavity with a slice of lemon, a whole garlic clove, salt and pepper, a whole small shallot, and more fresh Thyme.

  Put a pat of real butter on each hen, sprinkle with more salt and pepper, and more thyme.

  Roast these at the 450 degrees for the first half hour and then reduce the temperature to 350 and cook for another 45 minutes or so. They should be beautifully browned like this:

  

  For the side dishes you can do fancy or extra fancy. It’s up to you. For extra fancy, I would add baby carrots to the turkey roasting pan when you cook the hens. Let them brown at the bottom of the pan and remove when done. Serve the hens on individual plates on a bed of wilted spinach with the baby carrots off to one corner of the plate. You can even serve cranberry sauce! Also, toasted baguettes would be great with the dinner with a homemade dipping oil like this recipe:

  Mix olive oil, salt, pepper, crushed red pepper, fresh crushed garlic, and dried basil in a bowl. Transfer to a pretty dish when ready to serve.

  For just plain fancy, perhaps even rustic sides, roast fingerling potatoes tossed with olive oil, fresh rosemary, and salt and pepper until almost done. Transfer into individual, tiny cast iron pots like these: (Bass pro shops)Spray with Pam and finish baking at 400 degrees until tender and slightly browned. On the dinner plate itself, you’ll have the hen and perhaps some sprigs of roasted asparagus, and then serve the potatoes in the individual pots on the table next to the plate.

  You can even do mashed potatoes instead of the fingerling if you want but dress them up! For this: when the potatoes are cooked and ready to whip, add some dried parsley, celery salt, ground Coriander Seed, and of course your melted butter and cream. Keep whipping until all of the lumps are gone or your guests will write their next story about your lumpy potatoes.

  If you must do appetizers, and you probably must, do some stuffed mushrooms:

  Wash and remove stems of medium sized, whole mushrooms. Chop the stems and brown in olive oil with Hannaford Supermarket’s seafood(breaded) stuffing, or whatever seafood stuffing you use. Cool slightly.

  Stuff the mushrooms with that mixture and top with either shredded cheddar or mozzarella. Bake on a slightly greased pan for about 15 minutes at 375, or until tender and cooked throughout.

  And I would do a crackers and cheese plate with various cheeses and a variety of crackers, plus colorful grapes.

  (or you could do cocktail shrimp)

  You’re on your own for desert. I can’t think of everything!

  When your dinner guests arrive, undoubtedly someone will gasp, “Well, isn’t this fancy!’ when they see your table.

  You will enjoy the meal and the company and pat yourself on the back for coming up with such a great idea. But when the party is over and you have to clean up, you will vow never to host a dinner party again.

  The End. Enjoy the brief escape from solitude.

   

  *On a side note, another short work of my fiction has just been published by The Mystic Blue Review. See, “The Whupping Tree,” here: themysticbluereview.weebly.com

  and The Letter Words has me in the spotlight! See that here: https://theletterworks.com/blog

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged company, cook, dinner, eat, fancy, guests, hannaford, recipe, writer

• Possibilites

  Posted at 12:13 pm by writergherlone, on September 14, 2017

  

   

   

   

  Possibilities

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

   

  Autumn leaves break free and alight into the air, whirling, twisting, and laughing as they go.

  Dancing, drifting, exploring, before settling onto the dark and cresting waves.

  Tossing, churning, bubbling into the currents they go.

  Yellows, reds, and oranges on parade, sailing, surfing, dreaming.

  Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged autumn, dreaming, familyfriendly, leaves, microfiction, poetry

• Those Hometown Feelings

  Posted at 10:43 am by writergherlone, on August 29, 2017

  

  Those Hometown Feelings

  By Kristy Gherlone

   

  Recently, my husband and I made the long trek back to my home town in northern Maine. We try to make the trip once or twice a year and each time, I find myself battling a wide range of emotions.

  When I was a child, the town was a booming, bustling city that looked like it had been dropped smack dab into the middle of a sea of wilderness. Great Northern Paper Company owned the mill there and most of the forests surrounding it. Nearly everyone worked at the mill. The salaries provided were enough so that most people had a house in town, and a camp on one of the lakes, two cars per household, and yearly vacations.

  We had three elementary schools, a middle school, and a high school. We had an enormous recreational area with a football field, a hockey rink (with warming house), a regular skating rink, tennis courts, a track field, several playgrounds, a golf course, and a large outdoor town pool. The high school had an auditorium worthy of a Boston theatre company. Two or three times a year, we would all settle into the plush, red upholstered and reclining seats, and there, as the lights dimmed, and the curtains drew aside to reveal a spacious stage, we would watch the plays put on by the Millinocket Theatre Company, or the high school drama club. We had a movie theatre, and a bowling alley. We had department stores too, and multiple restaurants.

  We had all of those things, plus our town was cradled by mountain ranges and lakes so beautiful, I couldn’t do them justice with words. Our forest neighborhood offered mountain climbs, boating, swimming, skiing, hiking, snow- mobiling…you name it! We had Baxter State Park and Katahdin, where the Appalachian Trail ends.  We were rich in every sense, but not immune to hardship. We were a close- knit community, connected by so many things, and separated by very little. We struggled through harsh winters and forest fires. Through tragic deaths and illnesses. We spent years laughing and crying together. It was a town where you really knew each other and everyone’s family.  It is a place, that when I visit, I still see people I know in every corner. It’s both a comfort and a heartache.

  After Great Northern sold, the mill began to shut down in stages. People I had known my whole life had to pack it up and move away. Stores closed, one by one. While my town still has some of the things I mentioned, it’s a struggle, I know, to keep them going. I have history there, and not all of it is good, so when I arrive, I find myself riddled with feelings. My town has changed. I have changed.

  My mother sold the camp I spent all my summers at.  Some of my family still lives in town, but most of us don’t speak. Instead of staying with them, my husband and I stay at a hotel. It makes me sad that I can’t give him some of the wonderful experiences I had when I lived there and that he doesn’t know some of the people that used to be a big part of my life.

  My Dad is buried there. His grave sits on the top of a grassy hill, overlooking the mill; the place where he worked for over forty years and probably helped to hasten his demise. He’s alongside people he’d known and worked with his whole life. When I visit, I can hear him speaking to me, “Why are you wasting your time visiting me? I’m not really here, you jar head! I’m up in heaven, so stop blubbering and go have some fun!”

  He’s half- right. It’s not a waste of time to sit in remembrance of things loved, but lost, just so long as you don’t dwell there.  It’s important to make new memories. The forests are still there. Baxter State Park and the Appalachian Trail are still there. My old fishing spots still hold trout. We even have some new things in town, like the ATV Trails. So, my husband and I will continue to go back. Hopefully, someday, he will turn to me and laugh, “Do you remember that time we…” And I will smile when I look back on how much fun he and I had in my new- old hometown.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, hometown, maine, mountains, nonfiction, nostalgia, shortstory

• Sunfish Type of Gal

  Posted at 1:16 pm by writergherlone, on August 26, 2017

  

  Sunfish Type Of Gal

  by Kristy Gherlone

  Living in the woods, like I did for many years, I found myself a frequent observer of nature. There was really no way to avoid it because once I stepped outside our brown, boxy camp, I was as much a part of my surroundings as they were of me. The sights and smells left imprints on my psyche and I learned lessons that will stay with me forever.

  Our lake and the surrounding forest held many fascinations. There were giant snapping turtles lurking around in the cove. Fish and baby duck stealing monsters that would poke their muddy green heads out of the water and skulk around brooding. I swore they were stalking me. Just waiting for me to dip a toe in so they could bite it off.

  There were several mating pairs of loons. The calls they made through the night could be both a comfort and a fright. Their cries lulled me to sleep as I lay on the swinging bed my dad made for me in the cozy loft. However, if I was awoken in the middle of the night, they sounded like ghosts! Eerie wails of long dead woodsmen that would haunt my dreams if I was able to get back to sleep.

  When I looked through the binoculars from the screened front porch, which I often did, I could spy bull moose on the far shore. Their giant antlered heads would be all the way underwater chomping on aquatic plants. Just when I thought they’d surely die of suffocation, they’d emerge.  Lily pads dangled like Christmas ornaments from their velvety racks.

  Often, I’d take to the forest. I’d wander off, far enough away from the camp that I couldn’t see it, but not far enough so that I couldn’t still smell the wood smoke puffing from the chimney. Just past the pines, through the birches and over the rows of enormous rocks left behind by glaciers, there was a clearing that held a bog. In mid-summer, it was lush and full of green plant life. Yellow lily flowers opened on the surface during the day and clammed shut at night. There were frogs in there, but they were hard to catch. The water was deep and the bottom was too squishy. I once got my shoe stuck in the muck and I never did find it. It’s probably still there to this day.

  If ever I got too bored, I’d head back down to the lake. I’d lay on my belly, draped over the faded and warped pine dock, peek into the shallow water, and look for sunfish nests. They were easy to spot. They’d be the only clean areas dotting the pulpy, dark bottom.
  The female fish crafted large, round circles of sand that looked like the sunshine had come out on a rainy day down there. They were interesting, and I learned a thing or two in all those years of watching.

  Sunfish girls were jealous and possessive. They didn’t like outsiders, and everything and everybody that wasn’t like them was a threat that should be run off quickly. They had an inherent need to protect what they felt was theirs. They’d socialize with their own kind only. The yellow perch, all tiger striped and sleek, would sneak in and try to play with them, but the sunfish wouldn’t have it. They’d chase them off, pecking at them viciously and swishing their tails to shoo them away. I felt bad for the perch as they swam away looking very dejected.

  The sunfish were industrious, spending hours cleaning their own houses. Picking up and spitting out what didn’t belong. I’d test them by dropping tiny stones in the middle of their order. They’d pick them up and move them out immediately. In my often, curious youth, tragedy would occur on occasion. Larger stones would slip from my fingers and go splashing down into their lairs. In no time at all, other sun fish would be called in to help. Everyone would work together to restore what was lost, if it could be (sorry!) As soon as it was done though, everyone would be booted out again.  It seemed they mostly only wanted company when it was to their benefit.

  Sunfish were pretty. Purple finned and red bellied beauties. They had nothing to be jealous about, but it seemed they couldn’t help it. Sometimes they would school up and swim together. They appeared cordial enough to each other, but God forbid if one tried to take something another wanted!

  I’ve known some girls like sunfish in my lifetime. I’m sure you have too. I’ve been on the receiving end of the shoo away from time to time, and it hurt, but I always tried to apply my nature observations for comfort. People really aren’t so different, after all.

  I learned, by watching the fish as much as I did, that they were too self- centered to give you a second thought just as soon as you were out of sight (or threat zone). Their thoughts always turned back to themselves and their needs. I like that. It means less gossip!

  I learned that they often end up alone, living a sad and lonely life, while the others are out having a blast.

  While few other fish are as pretty, looks don’t mean anything if you aren’t fun to be around. There are definitely cooler fish in the lake to hang with!

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged camp, familyfriendly, fish, nature, shortstory, sunfish

• Daddy’s Coat

  Posted at 4:19 pm by writergherlone, on August 19, 2017

  

   

  Daddy’s Coat

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  “Mom, you gave me an extra again,” Katie said as she placed the last setting at the table, only to realize she still had a plate in her hand.
  She glanced briefly, but painfully, towards her dad’s chair. Her heart squeezed at the sight. His olive colored winter coat, puffy with downy feathers still hung over the back as if at any moment he’d be coming in to put it on.
  “Just habit, I guess. I’m sorry. Bring it here,” her mom said.
  Katie, lost in a memory, didn’t hear her.
  **
  “What do you want for Christmas daddy?” Katie, at fifteen, had asked her dad that year. She’d taken a part time job a few weeks before, and was proud that she’d finally be able to purchase the gifts for Christmas all on her own.
  She didn’t know, at the time, how tight her parents’ budget was, and what a relief it was for them. She couldn’t know. Her dad never deprived her of anything and never let on how much he went without sometimes.
  “Oh, I don’t know. How about a tin of those peach blossoms I like?”
  “But daddy, I meant a real gift. I always get you candy. I want to get you something you really want.”
  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want you spending your money on me. Save it up! Get yourself something special,” he’d said, ruffling her hair as he headed off for work.
  She’d had to ask her mom later what he wanted.
  “Well, you know… there’s this coat he’s been wanting. He saw it in the Sears and Roebucks. Said it looked real warm. Supposed to be filled with goose feathers or some foolishness, but don’t worry about it. His coat’ll do another year. That one’s too expensive, in my opinion. Ninety-nine dollars!” Her mother clucked and shook her head.
  Katie knew the coat he had been wearing was dangerously worn out. Many years of harsh Maine winters and several dozen washings had left it thin and faded, but he never complained no matter how cold it got. He used to say, ‘I’m tough I is I am I are, and when I’m mad I spits tar.’ It used to make Katie giggle when she was little, and her eyes roll when she got older.
  He probably could have bought a new coat the year before with the money he had in savings, but Katie had needed braces.
  “Ninety-nine dollars?” Katie asked nervously. She had one hundred and fifty saved up. Ninety-nine was a lot of money… Nearly all of her Christmas budget.
  “Yeah. That’s why I said don’t worry about it. He’ll manage.”

  Her mom had married him when Katie was just eight years old, so he wasn’t her real dad then. He’d only become he real dad by the way he treated her, and by the way her heart felt about him. He became as real as anyone else’s. They’d been so poor before. Never enough food, or anything else for that matter.  He’d taken them in, and treated her like she was his very own daughter. That first Christmas he’d bought her every single thing she’d scribbled down on her list. She knew he wanted her to know how loved she was and that she’d never have to worry again.
  Katie went off in search of the catalogue and looked it up. It was nice. It was rated to forty-five below. He could use that, working outside like he did a lot of the time. He was getting old. His hair, gone gray years before, had thinned to unmanageable wisps, and his hands, all gnarly from arthritis, could barely hold a wrench anymore. She knew the cold bothered him, though he’d never admit it.
  Katie studied the picture again.
  Ninety-nine dollars! She sucked in her breath. It was a lot of money. There were so many things she could buy with that!

  Without any more hesitation, Katie called the number on the catalogue.
  Christmas morning, she watched as he opened the big brown box. She’d never seen him cry before, but as he unwrapped the tissue paper and pulled the coat out of the box, his eyes were misty. He choked up as he reached over to hug and thank her.
  He wore that coat every winter day until the last one, and every time he put it on, he’d say the same thing, “Boy oh boy this is a nice coat. So sturdy and warm.”

  **
  “Katie! I said bring it here!” Her mom’s voice, tinged with annoyance, brought her back to the present.
  Katie snapped to and handed the plate back to her mother.
  She turned around and went over to her dad’s chair. She ran her hand over the soft fabric of the coat. She lifted it up and held it to her nose, breathing in deeply.
  It smelled of tobacco and mint. Of wood shavings and oil. There was a whiff of coffee and just a hint of cologne. Everything that was her dad was captured in that coat. There were a thousand memories wrapped up in there; of him pulling her on the sled, the year he taught her to drive a snow mobile, that fall he took her hunting, and of him chopping down countless Christmas trees. The threads that ran through the length of that coat, holding it together, were like the threads of their relationship. Sturdy. Just like her love for him would always be, even though he was gone.
  “I can put it away in the closet if it will make you feel any better,” her mom said.
  “No, don’t!” Katie said quickly. After all, she liked to pretend too.

  There would always be a place at the table, even if only in their memories

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childhood, family, familyfriendly, fiction, flashfiction, shortstory, stepdad

• Harvey

  Posted at 1:17 pm by writergherlone, on August 12, 2017

  

   

  Harvey

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  Harvey had been waiting all year for the snow to come again.  He’d overheard the birds whispering icy secrets to each other for days, so he knew it would be soon.  He shivered with anticipation, shaking the last of the stubborn, cranky leaves to the pavement.  They skittered away, alarmed to be so suddenly homeless.  He watched through the night, stretching his limbs from time to time to ease his creaking trunk and to test the air.  Just as the first sliver of light peeked over the horizon, he heard one tiny flake giggle as it swam through the air.  He reached out to grab it before the morning warmth could steal it away, and gently tucked it into the crook of his branch.  He captured as many as he could, lovingly placing them in his care until his arms ached under the strain.  His nearby friends danced and shook in the wind trying to rid themselves of the tiny offenders, but not Harvey.  He’d waited a long time.  He wanted to keep them for as long as he could.

   

  *Also, my new story, Ice Cream or Moxie, is now available at Shortfictionbreak.com!

  Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, microfiction, shortstory, snow, trees, winter

• The History Lottery (excerpt)

  Posted at 12:39 pm by writergherlone, on August 8, 2017

  This is a busy time of year for magazine submissions and contests. Please accept my apologies for the dwindling posts, as I have been working on completing my short story selections.

  Be sure to look for “Ice Cream or Moxie,” in Short Fiction Break this Friday, August 11, and the entire version of “The Falls”, coming up in the print version of Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal.

  For today: Here is an excerpt from one of my novels, which you can find on Amazon and Barnes & Noble:

  This novel has had excellent reviews and is a favorite with my readers.

   

  “Maize Getchell was just ten years old the night she went missing from the small town of Carlton, New Hampshire, where she lived with her father, Raymond Getchell, former Chief of Police. Rachael Somes, a clerk at the store from which Maize was taken, was only nineteen when she was shot and killed that same night by the man who is presumed to have taken Maize.”

  Raymond turned up the volume, put the footrest up on his chair, and took a giant swig of his beer. It always caught him right in the gut every time he saw a picture of her. It took his breath away. He’d chosen the picture to be shown every year. It was his favorite. She’d been caught in mid-laugh. He loved the way her nose had wrinkled in that way, and the way the sun caught the highlights in her orange-blonde hair. She had a lot of her mother in her. It was a picture he’d taken of her on their trip to the beach the summer before she went missing. The last vacation he’d had with her. She’d told him that it had been the best vacation of her life.

  “On April sixteenth, seven years ago tomorrow, Maize was taken from Beale’s Hillside Convenience at approximately eight o’clock in the evening by an unknown man. She would have been seventeen this year.”

  The news played a brief clip from a surveillance video that had been shot from outside of the gas station. They paused the frame on the abductor, but it wasn’t a clear shot.

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged fiction, government, grief, loss, lottery, love, murder, mystery, novel

• Mother Earth

  Posted at 6:14 pm by writergherlone, on August 3, 2017

  

   

  Mother Earth

  Micro fiction by Kristy Gherlone

   

  Pleased with what she had created, Mother Earth wanted to rest for a while and admire her beautiful children.

  They climbed all over her, showering her face with sweet-scented kisses, so happy to have her near. She sang lullabies to settle them as they clamored for a place closest to her heart.

  “No need to fight, dear ones,” she whispered.  “You ARE my heart.”

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childfriendly, earth, microfiction, nature, shortstory

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