personal literary writing literature poetry short stories essays

lv personal literary writing literature poetry short stories essays

and the rest is history sort of......DAVID EIDE.COM

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Reflections at night when the dark is good and we see farther. A short meditation.
"A silent conjunction between what one thinks and what has been thought."

Brief Tales on a Whim.
There is nothing more pitiful than the storyteller without his stories.

Meditations on the 60th Anniversary of Hiroshima What would the end of the world entail? Do we boast that we can imagine such a thing?

3 short stories. $3

In the apprenticeship period hopes are high.
"But then, who will save us from our own crimes?"

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AH CHILDHOOD

Then came the circus, then the fair, then the movie. The boy and his brother and cousins took to entertaining and made a circus without animals out on the square patio intersected by brick, in front of the parents, with the Incredible Strongman, the lion tamer, and the woman-who-rides-the invisible- white horse. Money collected at the beginning, quarters and dimes. Slight applause and smiles all around from those sitting on the plastic chairs as the kids invent a world in front of them. They practiced for a week on all the acts but it never made up for the stumbles and bumbles. And it was over in a moment. The adults shrugged their shoulders. One said, "is that it?"

Then they put on the all-day fair at the cousins house, across the fence and in the yard that sloped toward the creek and oak trees. The neighborhood came and bought tickets and tried out their skills in hammering nails into boards and roller skating races on the patio that was festooned with balloons. A buzzing, milling crowd of kids at the card table, at the crude booths set up on the dog run in the back, inside the house playing a variety of games; marbles, pin-the-tail, board games. And in the background played a record of French songs on the little record player his cousin had so she could practice her ballet. All topped off by the pinata that hung over the patio.

Kids came up from the creek, across the way in the stubborn wood houses he often played in. And they came from the Court and Drive where they all knew each other and played in each others houses and on the street and down in the creek and in the pasture where the horses were kept, racing around wildly from time to time.

The kids were, at times, a roving band. They found places to grass slide and search for arrow heads from the old tribe and doing mischief at Halloween led by the older brother. They all ran from the older kids who knew how to drive and would throw eggs at them from pickup trucks. Oh brave kid who stood up to it!

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