According to reports certain White House interns past, present and future are asking Americans not to vote for Hillary

Inseparable they are, landing one after another on the ground under the bird feeder two mourning doves

The haberdasher has that season of the year he rids his racks, his bins of oddments. I have no season of the year

A rainy Sunday and Pastor Smith is in his pulpit bellowing to the congregation, “I hope you understand

The question isn’t why your little world is suddenly going to hell. The question is what can you do about

The mug of tea I drank at dawn, the tea that drove me to the train needs a refill.

Handsome is as handsome does, Jeanie always said, when Donald was away on business.

Woman in a window brushing long hair madly screams at a little boy down in the street licking an ice cream cone

Three times a day a train roars through a field a farm away booming like an Angus bull looking for companionship.

A good reason to get married, Tim told me before he died, is you need a driver to take you home from a colonoscopy. When cancer runs in the family

You can learn a lot, both true and false, in a dingy all-night diner where old men gather at a table in back

I turn the porch light on because it’s dark when I go out to find the morning paper. It’s still dark when I start back but when I’m on the porch I reach

Some say none. Others say one. Some say three in one and then say one of the three

Some never hear of him and likely never will— pygmies in Africa, aborigines in Tasmania, the indigenous in South America.

The scruffy old man and his white poodle on a long red leash were neighborhood icons years ago down at the corner