Trees were here The low scrubs too bamboo and kudzu filled the ground where never grass was found the ages claimed the years obscured the land hidden in the dirty woods the birds still fly and the crows still roost in the trees that grew too tall around us but the dirt and discarded trash... Continue Reading →
I've spent so many years at the hilltop house hotel that the days bleed together like a watercolor painting left in the rain. I've seen people come and go, faces pass in a blur. I have made so many friends and acquaintances that I can't recall all of their names. Of course I've made friendships ... Continue Reading →
He looked exhausted. His shoulders were slumped, his shirt was rumpled and his blue striped neck tie was loosened and his eyes spoke volumes. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth and his hands patted himself down looking for his lighter. The street light caught his salt and pepper, close-cropped hair and beard. "Here... Continue Reading →
I wrote this story many many years ago in a much shorter form. And you're correct, this story didn't concern the hilltop house. And no, it isn't even true. This is my small contribution to the folklore of Harper's Ferry, and I hope in some way, to the folklore of Appalachia.