life
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by Carol Roper The house was quiet now at a few minutes to 8:00 a.m. The first two hours upon awakening were pandemonium, a word rarely used in contemporary times but a suitable description of the events that occurred each morning around 5 a.m. But now the sun was above the two-floor house across the…
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by Carol Roper In recent months I’ve enjoyed a personal peace new to me. At first, I felt guilty for not doing something productive: watering the garden plants, walking the dog, writing a story, answering email or checking social media. But then, I decided to allow my idleness and see where it led. Busy thoughts…
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by Carol Roper Standing behind a glass fence on the terrace of the dream house he and Sofy had designed for their cliff side lot thirty-two years ago, Porter Thomson focused his night vision binoculars on the fishing trawlers off shore along the Pacific North Coast of Mexico. The air he breathed was vibrant with a…
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“You don’t love someone for their looks or their clothes, or their car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” Oscar Wilde by Carol Roper Hunched over the steering wheel of his newer model Subaru parked under the sole functioning street lamp on a side street in Rosarito Beach, Ted Pruett pondered…
Carol Roper 