The North Wind

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…North wind, I would be all wet and hairy, cold-blasting through the towns and cities in my path, push-sending people rushing for cover. I would follow them into their shelters, fast-forcing the doors open, seeking for myself warmth and rest. But the doors slam shut in my face. Outside, slow old men, beards frozen, eyelashes frosted, noses frigid and dripping, lean stubbornly into me, still sloshing, slipping toward…

By Abigail Moore

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Postcard

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…Harris shuffled methodically through boxes and unorganized piles of her parents history in New Orleans, as well as their separate lives before their marriage. Her father, Henry’s life in Chicago, as a boy, and then San Francisco. And her mother, Marjorie’s in India, Japan and Europe.

Her mother’s letters to old college friends, as well as childhood playmates, were amazingly devoid of any real substance. Her journals, from her teenage years through college were the exact opposite. They were incredibly detailed.

Olivia could almost picture the sleek old halls of the boarding schools in Austria, Switzerland and England. She could…

By Abigail Moore

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