Black Wind Part 5

Black Wind Part 5

            The morning after Grandmother Tyler left the nursing home, Madelaine clomped down the stairs from the second floor of Mrs. Hanson’s house.  Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she walked into the kitchen. 

Black Wind Part 4

                                    Black Wind Part 4

            Madelaine awoke to the stinging odor of charred wood and the sound of desultory voices ascending from the yard to her open window.  “What am I goin’ to do, Billy?”

Black Wind Part 3

       Madelaine brushed her short, brown hair, neatly placed the brush on the dresser then crossed the room and pulled back the covers of the bed in Mrs. Hanson's guestroom.  She lay down and, staring up at the ceiling, linked her hands behind her head.  Tears prickled her eyes as she thought about Grandmother.  She'd never seen her grandmother cry but when she heard about the slaughter men and Black Wind, several big tears rolled down her wrinkled cheek before she took a deep breath and blinked hard.  Madelaine still felt that warm glow right in the middle of her chest from Grandmother's words to her.

      "Madelaine, you're just like your momma and daddy.  Brave and good.  You've made this old woman proud."

Black Wind Part 1

                                                         BLACK WIND
         At twelve years old, Madelaine Jacobs never thought she would steal a horse.  But at the time, it seemed the only logical thing to do.

Gift from the Fifth Decade

I want to grow up to be a good dog.
Honest, loyal, trustworthy and reliable.

How to Enter an Online Classroom

“Hit the ‘A’ key then type three random letters while holding your breath.” 

A Horse for Jennella

A Horse For Jennella

Mattie Holbrook, barrel racer and horse trader, awoke to a fine misting rain.  A quiet woman with a calm temperament, she didn’t have any idea she would kill a man on this day.

Gifts from the Fifth Decade

The best prayer I can pray, 
Is the prayer I live each day.

Gifts from the Fifth Decade

I hold my life in my hands. 
 It is I who shapes this clay I hold.
I must dream the shape of my life.