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

Newlyweds cuddle on a bench in their garden. A hummingbird pauses then enters a lily. They make love in public.

One has to be careful campaigning door-to-door. One doesn’t know who’s behind any door. Could be someone

Unable to sleep Bill watches preachers on TV after midnight. The preachers warn the Saved Satan is coming to get them. Bill wonders why preachers do this…

He’s not among the quick and not among the dead. He’s somewhere in between he tells anyone who stops his wheelchair in the halls

Old Tim writes poetry now in his heaven of retirement. He’s had nice jobs over the years but swears retirement is better.

An hour before dawn the paper is out on the lawn white in the moonlight a trumpet dozing after a long night in a jazz bar

Do I write in the third person or only in the first? Do my ideas reign supreme or do other ideas work as well? Do I know I’m always right

November’s lovely in the rain, she… from her rocker near the window to no one in particular although the butler’s waiting for her groce… having walked her Pekingese.

Bella takes two big pills every morning followed by one each of another three.

Yes, fifty years ago today it happened. Quite a story. He was your favorite uncle and he liked you a lot too. You were all torn up.

Sleet on the turnpike in the middle of the night but I keep driving, both hands on the wheel, nowhere to pull off,

He remembers loving her lost in an orchard peaches, pears, apricots falling on his head every day