It is fascinating yet disheartening that suppressed vitriol surfaces during festive events with nonthinking disgruntled relatives.
Unintended arrows housed in the family quiver stand poison poised awaiting a catalyst to ignite an inevitable launch that cannot be aborted.
(I awoke from this dream and jotted it down)
Written by Edward Roads
This morning as the sun slid behind a deck of ominous clouds, I wandered down a clean dirt path that seemed to split a green landscape exactly in half.
I wasn’t completely sure if I had been to this part of town before, but the unusually fresh air and tall waving flowers welcomed a return if I could lose myself once again.
Written by Edward Roads
Conversations, reflections and whispers gently echo in the air that surrounds a simple bench sitting within the placid bounty of nature’s tranquility.
Subsequent souls will find lasting gratification by opening their hearts to the ethereal serenity of this abundant area hosted by a single seat.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
On a pleasantly warm and sun soaked summer afternoon they gathered together to celebrate as one.
The occasion wasn’t simply acknowledging this moment, but rather the enduring legacy of love and compassion that was respectfully marked by each lit candle.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
This morning I witnessed two unvarnished white moths playfully fluttering about on an exhaustively unmappable flight path.
The flirtatious flower they were surely not courting majestically displayed it’s vibrantly colorful landing corolla nonetheless.
Written by Edward Roads
The dear old woman had yellow flowers on her apron, droopy nylons and hands that felt like tissue paper.
Holding her cane while she got a better grip on the melting coconut ice cream cone put a smile on my face I won’t soon forget.
Written by Edward Roads
The banal little boy with too many toys came home each day to throw another away that didn’t define who he would be.
Eventually, the vacant man without a plan placed his favorite in the yard to stare at the sky and carry out the searching for him.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
I was walking around enjoying the fresh morning air when I unexpectedly began thinking about the perpetual breathing service trees provide.
I couldn’t help but wonder if in some unassuming way they were continuously watching the world with a naturally growing sense of resentment.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Inside the rusted fences of Camp Woebegone, a forgotten but still functional trailer awaits discovery amidst a neglected landscape.
Enduringly, the once indispensable transport now rests with optimistic red eyes focused upon a future auspicious day.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Needing to make my way about the basement, I attempted to suppress escalating fear but that noise was constantly grinding away within me.
Although it lasted only a couple of seconds, the clatter sounded a little too much like a stubborn tree trunk being forced into a hungry wood chipper.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 42)
Written by Edward Roads
I recently attended a luncheon for the invisible at an undisclosed location in a quiet part of town.
Conversation was virtually nonexistent save for the snail whose glance spoke with a slow but deliberate food for thought ideal.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Throughout the night enthusiastic elements danced and mingled with one another at a condensed version of a particular lawn party.
Near the end of the evening, participating guests bonded together to assemble a commemorative canopy which put crystallized fruition on display.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The smiling tan man with a sweaty forehead and swinging arms sped by me once again this morning.
He appears to be zealously exercising but his resolve remains unclear because he always wears boot cut jeans and penny loafers.
Written by Edward Roads
After the rain, puddles that collect on the side of the road are strewn with residual stares from passersby.
Discarded thoughts float in those shallow baths for birds until evaporation can dismiss them away.
Written by Edward Roads
I needed a moment as I gathered myself while leaning against a cold cellar wall.
My internal compass began to work when I froze in my tracks because for the first time time since I was upstairs, I heard the noise again.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 41)
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 