The Park Bench

A Short Story He saw her there everyday. And everyday he’d lean up against the old oak tree, pretending to read the paper, but really just stealing glances. Long, chocolate-colored hair. He imagined it smelled as sweet as it looked. Her eyes were the same …

Rise

I’ve wondered too, When I look to the sky. Is He there? Can He hear me? Does He care? Can He heal me?   I’ve shed tears At the answer. Not in doubt, But in joy. As relief floods My Spirit, And gives me employ. …