The hydrangeas were bent under veils of snow. Irritated at late spring snowstorms and disorder, Ethan Crick had his broom to the bushes and the sidewalk before the fat flakes had stopped falling. He noticed the oddity right away, standing up out of the drift, pointing to heaven.
Continue reading “The Finger by Joy Oden”
78-year-old Cameron walked about wearing a 40-pound exercise vest. His routine included marching every day up and down the mall stairs and then through the mall, back up to the park and along the beach and up some more stairs. The extra weight gave him purpose and strength.
Continue reading “A Thousand More Steps by Harrison Kim”
He was a tall sheepish gentleman in his late fifties. His eyes were gentle, his chin was weak, his shoulders were starting to stoop. His legs were thin and wobbly, his hair was thinning and gray. And he walked with the hesitant stride of a crane, his head bobbing forward with every step. Watching him amble along the street, one would never guess him to be an artist. A servant, perhaps, a beggar more likely, but not an artist: a soul unencumbered by earthly snares and committed to only the Muse. But an artist he was, and no mere artist at that. He was an artist in the most gallant of mediums: the daring realm of street performance.
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