All you can be

 He stumbled in the darkness as he made his way to his home office. One word of profanity was stifled by his hand, which smelled of the homemade chocolate cookies he had eaten before going to bed. It was too late to go back for a flashlight, so he hugged the wall until he felt an open space that was his office. He didn't turn on the overhead light as his eyes adjusted; he lit a couple of candles and sat down at his desk. As he stared at his desktop and the numerous home screens of pin-up girls, he remembered being woken up with words that had to be written, but, as luck would have it, he didn't remember which words. They must have been important to wake him from a deep sleep, maybe a vivid memory or a verse he knew from a novel he had read. Could it have been from a conversation, or a podcast, maybe a passing billboard, or a magazine he browsed while waiting to see the doctor? He had braved the darkness, stubbing a toe on a quest to write something powerful, but the words stayed at bay, and he grew tired. He woke up to a sunny day, the smell of coffee brewing, bacon sizzling, soft music playing as his wife came into his office and set a mug of coffee on his desk. "Miss April," she asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Indeed, he answered as he moved the mouse to unveil yet another blank screen. Maybe today, he thought to himself, he would be inspired by a passing billboard, perhaps one that asked if he could be all that he could be, and then it hit him that those words were exactly the ones he'd been searching for.

Mike  2026                                                           

A midsummer day

 Time seemed to stand still like that of a midsummer day when even the dust isn't moving. You look out at the corn crops mid-high by the fourth of July and jokingly tell yourself you hope they don't start popping. Inside the house, your grandkids visiting for the summer get their bathing suits on as he finishes blowing up the pool with what he believes could take his last breath.

As sunset arrived, he gave silent thanks for a slight breeze enough to watch the curtains dance and hear crickets sing an evening song. Bowles of ice cream for the grandkids and an iced tea for him and the wife sitting on the front porch watching for lightning in the distance, heat lightning some would say. Sticky hands are washed as another day comes to a close, and a bedtime story is read to sleepy faces soon to be in dreamland.
Darkness arrives, with fireflies in the distance dancing across the field, enjoying their short lifespan, like a snowflake, he supposed. She asked if he was coming to bed, and he said in a minute as he lit his pipe, the one he got for his last birthday. Smoke rings and the smell of captian black tobacco were the only movement as the night wrapped him in her arms to say goodnight.

Mike  2026                                                             

Red bricks and memories

 They walked hand in hand down the streets of a small town that many had never seen. Red brick buildings he helped build so many years ago now stand vacant, with windows boarded up, and a few somehow manage to stay open, like the pizza parlor that made deliveries by a kid on his bicycle, even in the dead of winter.  Mr. Rizzo opened his pizza palace some 50 years ago, first with his two sons as helpers who eventually went their own ways, leaving him to run things alone. But he didn't mind that as long as people called for a little slice of heaven. And there was the old hardware store with no new inventory. Mr. Jones ran the place and lived upstairs in the apartment where he and his late wife had lived a comfortable life together for over 60 years. Now he sits in his store, jolted awake by the bell on the door when the occasional customer would stop by to chat, checking in on him and sometimes buying something they had no real use for.

Urban renewal caught up with their town when the county decided to build a bypass that cut off the little town, with no need to go there unless you called it home. Very soon now, the once-quaint town would be demolished to make way for new development, including apartment buildings, restaurants, and a couple of box stores that would draw from interstate traffic. As they walked hand in hand past the empty storefronts, each in their own way remembering days gone by. She remembered the dress shop where she worked for 30 years, only stopping when her hands stopped working as well. She remembered the corner pharmacy where Mr. Lang would open in the middle of the night to fill a prescription that had run out and needed to be filled quickly. And then there was the hub. An old railroad car converted into a diner that never closed. A place you could go at three in the morning and order steak and eggs or a pile of pancakes, known as comfort food. Mr. and Mrs. Brown fulfilled their dream by opening this place so folks could come and eat or just have some coffee any time, day or night. They saw young lovers sharing a milkshake, planning their futures, or a husband apologizing for his wandering ways. The diner was the middle ground where everything under the sun could be fixed with a stack of buttermilk flapjacks.
He stopped in front of a building that brought back feelings he thought he had buried a long time ago, when it was a toy store. They took their boys there occasionally on a Saturday morning, being first in line to buy the latest model airplanes or the newest editions of their favorite superheroes. The owner was Mr. Williams, a happy-go-lucky man who never missed a meal, as evidenced by the way he huffed and puffed to get out of his chair. He loved kids, but never married, so he treated every kid who came in like the kid he never had. At Christmas, Mr. Williams dressed like samta claus and didn't need to stuff the suit with pillows, as he was a natural. All those places are soon to be gone when the wrecking ball hits its mark, as thousands of red bricks are reduced to rubble and memories.
They walked hand in hand through the heart of their town, shedding some tears, some laughter as they remembered things that left their mark on the last of the residents who hadn't moved away, and the few who stayed, wishing they could have one more cup of coffee at the diner that's been bulldozed away to a waiting pile of red bricks and memories.

Mike  2026                                                                     

Summer was the best of all

 Like most kids, the lazy days of summer meant having one adventure after another. Swimming in either your own or a neighbor's pool, cookouts, and fireworks on the Fourth of July. It meant getting dirty didn't matter, and going barefoot was common until you stepped on too many stickers and mom made you put something on your feet, preferably the flip-flops you just had to have. Summer meant watermelon and spitting the seeds at anyone near you. It meant squirt-gun fights and water balloons, slushies and pop-cycle stick bombs. For those who aren't familiar with that, you simply fan out five popcycle sticks in your hand and carefully weave one through the next and so on until you can let go and the sticks don't fall apart. Then you throw it up in the air, and when it hits the ground, it explodes back to single sticks.

Summer meant baseball games at the field that served as a ballpark and an ice rink for winter skating, and when the fire department flooded the field, it was just another thing to watch for fun. Summer was going shirtless, and on the first day, you got the sunburn from hell, and mom helped by applying vinegar to ease the burn. Who thought that one up? Summer meant family vacations and the county fair, where you ate cotton candy and caramel apples, then washed your hands in the kiddy boat ride. You finally met the height requirements to ride the monster roller coaster, as your mom closed her eyes and your dad cheered you on. You blew through the ten dollars dad gave you trying to win a purple stuffed monkey, with a one-in-a-hundred chance. And the day came, you actually won, giving the monkey to your baby sister, who kept it in her room for many years.
Summer was like a speeding locomotive that flew by so quickly that if you blinked, it was gone. Ice cream cones you bit the bottoms off of and sucked dry, root beer floats, and frozen Kool-Aid cubes made in an ice tray. Summer meant falling asleep after a full day of fun, resting your head on mom's lap as the sun set, the moon rose, and a thousand stars came to life. The perfect ending to another summer that would always be as carefree as those who lived it.

Mike 2026                                                                  

One in a million

 She kept looking for him to pull into the driveway, shutting off the radio only after the game was over. She knew when his team won, as he let out a whoop-whop, tossing his thermos bottle in the air and doing a little jig. But when they lost, he slammed the truck door shut, kicking up dust, and slammed the door behind him. That was just the kind of man he was, and she loved him for that.  Once inside, everything that had happened outside would vanish as he put his arms around her, giving her neck a little nibble that she brushed away, telling him to go wash up because he smelled like a hard-working man if he wanted a kiss.

She stood at that window day after day for over forty years, watching for him to drive up, but only memories made the drive as she managed a smile, remembering the countless times he'd walk inside, a hand behind his back, holding a dozen roses that she put to her face and smelled. Come to think about it, she never once pretended to be surprised.
He was a kind man, a thoughtful man who lived a life of devotion to her, always looking for a good morning kiss when he left for work and another when he came home. He once told her that anything in between was just icing on the cake. They had no children, a fact they lived with, knowing if they had been able, they'd have a dozen kids running around. She supposed that was one reason he was always chasing her around the yard as she tried to hang clothes or weed the garden. Every day was full of laughter, and she knew the reason but never brought it up.
He was a high school football coach, teaching kids not only about football but also serving as a dad figure to many whose lives could be complicated. She lost count over the years as to how many times he'd bring home a kid for supper or have a backyard cookout for the entire team. There were dozens of kids he mentored over the years who brought her peace of mind, knowing he had them. The day of his funeral, hundreds of kids, parents, colleagues, and friends drove up that dusty road as she stood looking out the window, knowing he was loved in so many ways.

Mike  2026                                                              

Happy birthday America

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA, NOW 250 YEARS OLD.

In the scheme of things, our country isn't that old. Not when you consider the time when dinosaurs roamed the land millions of years ago. We are still adapting to new ideas to improve our way of life every single day. We heed new scientific discoveries and marvel at our space programs, which allow us to travel to places no one has ever been. Who would have thought that just a few decades ago, we would say that someday we would go to Mars? America is the land of the brave, where we witness new technologies designed with open minds that work outside the box to make our lives better. Let us remember, on this birthday, those brave men and women who left something behind, each of those 250 years a lesson we learned from and made better, with liberty and justice for all.

Mike 2026                                                                

Seasons in the woods

 The woods and their magic are something I never grow tired of. The moss is rich and green, the air has a hint of moisture, and trees stand at attention as if guarding a fortress. The summer months, when activity is limited as the heat peeks through the canopy, a passing thunderstorm interrupts the quiet, raindrops quench the thirst of the creatures who call it home, and the woods fill with a musty yet welcoming smell.

The Autumn woods are a splash of color, with tired leaves waiting their turn to fall. Red, yellow, and orange drift together towards the waiting earth, where countless others who came before them rest as the ground swallows them, changing their colors to the forest floor, forever forgotten.
The springtime woods are a rebirth of countless species of plants and saplings that lie dormant until the last of the snow melts away, giving the newborns a chance to grow and the bulbs that have transformed into tulips like an artist's palette of colors splashed across the valley, where wildflowers grow and dance to the music of a gentle breeze.
Winter's woods are my favorite woods. The extreme silence, except for the crunching of my boots on a blanket of white or the snap of a branch letting me know I wasn't alone. The winter woods beckon me to walk deep into the trees to a valley where I see a six-point buck doing its best to forage in an unforgiving landscape. I watch him for a few minutes, then take a napkin from my pack and unwrap some carrots, celery, and an apple that I set on top of a large stone, then retreat to continue my quest. I think another reason I like the winter woods is the smell. That smell is coming home with me, and the Christmas tree that will fill my house with winter. Not to forget pine burning in the fireplace, adding to those special winter nights in the woods.
Winter, spring, summer, and fall, you'll find me in the woods marveling at God's handiwork and doing my part to share it with others like myself. By the way, let it be known that every scrap of food I sat on a rock was taken with nothing left behind except for footprints in the snow.

Mike  2026