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
Preston Tapley was a lonely nonpareil who not only strolled about without actually touching the ground, but also seemed to speak without opening his mouth.
The day he surreptitiously moved into the old Cummings house, a sad looking structure that had been abandoned in the middle of the night by the previous occupants eight years ago, his normally controlled emotions clearly got the better of him.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Namelessly and side by side, every face fed on the dutiful sense of a collective self which uniformly billowed from each burgundy splashed battlefield all the way up to the airy blue umbrella of promising bright sunshine.
In an old shadow of a new day our unknown heroes honorably rest, quiet but not forgotten.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
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
What if there was only a sing-song someday to look forward to?
What if yesterday was nothing more than tomorrow’s past because we had become too stale to embrace our sedulousness today.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
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
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
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
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
Summoning courage I had only known from campy tales with unconvincing characters, I hobbled over to the bulkhead door and haphazardly slid-open an unexpectedly loose deadbolt lock.
After flipping on a rusty, insufficient patio light, I stepped into the thick air of a perfectly still and obscenely quiet nightscape that provided a touch of solace, until the open door behind me slammed shut.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 134)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
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
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
He didn’t know, he never knew, he just sat in his saved seat day after day and sipped a delicate promise for tomorrow.
I asked him his name and where he was from and he
gleefully gave me a glassy eyed ‘see you tomorrow’ which came with
a hug that felt like a true taste of yesterday and what was expected of each and every one of us.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
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
As twisty gray branches stretch to touch the dense cloud deck thickening above a rust of needles and pine cones, the cold breath of winter’s envious voice freezes on contact with the lifeless nape of a woodland neck.
After a valediction from the lifting morning fog, a drab landscape transforms into eudemonic lushness which flourishes within the untethered imagination of those willing to pause, calmly breathe and believe.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 