Seasons

Mytwosentences 157 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

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Mr. Mahoney, Mick, to the nine pudgy ladies at the sallow St.Wiseman recreation center two streets over, gave a quick wave to a discombobulated Mr. Tapley who kind of noticed him, but not really.

Mick, who sees all, at least in this neighborhood, placed the warm and oft empty Coors Light can down on what nicely passed for homemade front steps, then walked across his carefully groomed lawn to initiate what would likely become an important handshake.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 156)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 154

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He was a stout man with thick fingers who willingly engaged your ear, although following his hackneyed conversation style was akin to skipping alongside Dorothy through an endless field of soporific poppies.

With a great big beer belly that was kept snuggly in place by faded green suspenders, the grizzled ex-landscaper could be seen almost every morning tending to his retirement project while periodically sipping from an oversized mug of coffee.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads 

Mytwosentences 152

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The terminally sick farm boy, who was no more than five, impatiently prattled from a smushed back seat beset with nacho chip crumbs and a warm helping of afternoon orange/yellow sunsplash.

Without mouthing a single word, which in most circles would be considered perfectly normal, he blearily windowed the continuous zip of painted white road slashes and loosely held a hopeful grip on moist and falling apart animal crackers.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 148 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

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Distant birds disappeared into the sunder of gathering clouds as Preston centered his new bearings on a property that was finally his, really his, despite the turn of your back fact he shouldn’t be here in the first place.

His dress, which was the simplest collection of bland, whitewashed whatevers, was the very same linen threads he wore each and every day without ever once thinking about it.(Continued from Mytwosentences 147)(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 147 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

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The clean light from zeitgeber and summer sunsplash welcomed Preston to the brownish beige grama of his recently acquired house lot like a safety flashlight in need of replacement batteries.
Upon hearing an oddly muffled ricochet sound, Mr. Tapley (who was unknowingly being observed) instinctively looked up to see the shrinking zenith of a deep blue sky that weirdly appeared to pull dark clouds inward from it’s pine tree periphery.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 146)
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 146 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

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For Preston, clear emotion was the unusual presence of a minute droplet of moisture formed at the socket of his typically steadfast soul.
Dismissing this brief display as if matter-of-factly dealing cards for the next game of solitaire, he carefully checked each window one last time and cautiously got out of the cab to get a scoping view of his property.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 145)
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 143

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A man wearing a silly little Zorro mask somehow snuck into a June get-together and placed a ribbon tied gift near an outdoor tv, which was showing a baseball game that everyone, and I mean everyone, was watching.
He confidently kissed the host, who didn’t have a clue who he was or why he was there, and effortlessly removed a lush red rose from it’s vased stem and strolled out of the fenced-in backyard with a fresh pocket flower and a dustless pair of blue cowboy boots.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 140

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Legend considered him a dashing scarlet pimpernel who could flawlessly wear a finely tailored silk suit while effortlessly grilling fresh bison beneath the endless blue skies of campestral South Dakota.
The face slap of reality spoke when his tolerant new bride calmly pointed out that his annoying hebetude had left their crowded backyard barbecue without sufficient propane gas or any dry matches.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 139

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The flightpath of an aimless gossamer was drifting in a weakening afternoon breeze that tickled noses and made just about everyone rub their eyes amidst the dusty setting sunshine.
As one bid adieu to a newly discovered bourbon still, flighty fluffy somethings from an alcohol-driven yesterday continued to float into an airy ballroom we call today.
(Photo: Michael Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 138

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On a Sunday stroll with muted celerity, did you happen to hear the very first breath that tasted the tickled sweetness borne within the hypaethral expanse of today’s sunrise?
Unfortunately, our day to day psittacism frequently overlooks the simple amplitude and sensory quality that each of us honestly and uniquely strives to posess.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 137

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The hypnotic skirl of parade bagpipes could be heard warming behind tightly bundled six year old twin boys whose curiosity drew them closer to a marvelously endemic, nautical sculpture.
As the arm swinging bandmaster led two synchronized rows of frosty kilts down a spectator-lined boulevard, the twins’ eyes boggled at their briefly visible puffs of breath that mingled with frozen sails like quickly passing fair weather clouds.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 134 (side story continues)

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When I pressed my glowering face against the cold window to get better focus, cheek and glass vibrated in consonance as resonating rumbles of thunder rolled low across a threatening sky.
Inside my muddled mind, a bone-dry sugarcane field burned and fusty senses turned tourbillion as a flash punch cracked the glass and snapped me back to the cellar floor.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 123)
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 132

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On the cold side of a clear kitchen pane, an almost audible serenity presided over the early morning stretch from abounding twigs and blanketed boughs.
With breath and hot coffee steaming the window, a newly opened front door practically framed the trundle of the living day, which appeared to momentarily stop and smile back.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 128

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A tiny woman with work-a-day dirt on her face demanded the wagon train stop before the next filthy man with a half empty bottle of whiskey spit out the usual semi-coherent blah blah blah that meant stop.
As so called frontier beans were slowly heating above yet another fire, lurking scoundrels began running beyond the spinning spoked wheels which rolled with a rickety rack towards the many unclaimed parcels of land that were up for grabs.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 126

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Despite owning a trendy new laptop and a wall flattering flat screen, he was the kind of man who took the time to write to his friends in longhand and look people directly in the eye when he had something to say.
As he was about to walk his only daughter down the aisle, he beheld this unforgettable trice of fatherhood and wholeheartedly embraced it as if it was an eternal teardrop frozen in a timeline of love.
(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads