Session January 26, 2019

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It is night and there is a full moon looking out over a landscape by the water.

By BG

We are sitting in our little boat ever so patiently hoping for a fish to tug at our fishing lines. It was kind of cool being out fishing with our night vision goggles. We had just  bought them on Amazon and wanted to try them out. The Salton Sea was maybe not the best place to fish but I had heard that the fish and game department did stock it with some kind of fish so there was hopefully something out there for us to hook into. I imagine nothing too big or challenging to reel in. Every thing looked so strange with night vision sort of like an eerie, odd-colored daylight from another dimension. We decided to move since we had no bites yet. Maybe another spot would be better. We drifted slowly, then we putt-puttered over closer to shore so we could fish and take a closer look at what was happening along the shore. We dropped anchor, threw in our lines and the boat drifted around so we had a good view of the beach.

We all gasped. We could not believe our eyes. We all knew there were areas of the Imperial Valley where you could see strange stuff but who knew there was a section hidden away that was right out of Jurassic Park. Two dinosaurs right in front of our eyes. Yow! We wondered how many more were around. 

We weighed anchor very, very quietly and drifted off. The Salton Sea isn’t very deep. They wouldn’t even have to swim. They could wade out and get us. As soon as we were much farther out we revved up the motor and hightailed it back to the launching sight on the other side of the sea. The night vision fishing expedition had ended and we lived to tell the tale. No fish however. 

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Many health practitioners recommend dry skin brushing.

By CC

After the accident, I was a mess at first. The worst of it was economic: I was out of work for months since both my workshop and my truck were decimated in the explosion, even though it had occurred many miles away. 

I did have insurance, though. After the head frame and tibial torsion braces were off, and a week before my reconstructive maxilliofacial surgery began, I was able to drag myself around on a walker and peruse the Internet for tips on healing. 

I learned that many health practitioners recommend dry skin brushing. I was intrigued. I obtained a dry skin brush and began to brush every place on my body that I could reach with the arm that remained. In time I learned how to hold the brush with my teeth and treat that arm, too. Within one year of diligent dry skin brushing, I grew back my missing limb, my face healed without surgery, I lost 50 pounds and toned my abs. 

The next photograph will show my trainer and detail how she fell in love with me. We own a chain of dry brushing salons with which I’m sure you are all familiar by now. This dry brushing experience has been an eye opener for sure. I’m offering a substantial 15% membership discount to all your readers. You won’t regret it, folks. It will change your life.

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As long as a memory is inaccessible, the mind is unable to change it.

By CT

Kathleen slumped in her wheelchair in the nursing home. To all appearances, she seemed unresponsive and lost in her own world.

Her mind, however, flitted from memory to memory, and relished each one. 

She saw herself as a young girl, wearing a lace-trimmed dress, as she admired a plot of sunflowers. She faced into the wind, which tangled and tousled her hair. 

“Ah,” she thought, “That was a wondrous day!”

Her doctor and his assistant observed her from a few feet away.

“What does she think about?” the assistant, young and a bit over-confident, asked her superior.

The doctor said, “Only she knows. She doesn’t recognize her daughters; they’re lost in her memories. As long as a memory is inaccessible, the mind is unable to change it. She’s just marking time now.”

“Wrong,” Kathleen thought. “I’m making time to remember!”

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It has a lot of similarities to what was called cold fusion.

By MD

Muriel’s antique bottle collection was something she took pride in. It was too small, to be sure – only six bottles – but she displayed them proudly on her kitchen windowsill, right under her grandmother’s hand-crocheted lace valance. It seemed only natural, then, that when she created her dating profile for “OurTime.com” that she would mention her love of all things which had stood the test of time. “Just like me,” she murmured to herself as she hit the submit button. 

Every day Muriel checked in to see if there was an e-mailed response to her dating foray, but each day, to her dismay, there was nothing. After several weeks of diligent checking, she gave up and shut her computer down. “I guess there’s no one interested in lovely antiques…of which I suppose I am one,” Muriel stated aloud to herself. One day, however, after almost a year since her original post, Muriel fired up her computer and was surprised and pleased to find an inquiry from a retired high school physics teacher. The post was already several months old, but Muriel gathered her courage and responded to his inquiry.

I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long to hear from me,” she wrote in her email. “As a former physics teacher, I’m sure you understand my tardy response. It has a lot of similarities to what was called cold fusion.”

Taking a deep breath, Muriel hit the send key. Almost immediately, there was a response from Harvey, her potential suitor. Correspondence proceeded fast and furiously for the next week, and the two decided to meet.

Muriel and Harvey married the day after they met. For a wedding present, Harvey presented Muriel with an antique glass beaker, which she placed proudly on the windowsill alongside her bottle collection. 

“Thank you, Harvey darling,” she said. “This whirlwind romance also has a lot of similarities to what was called cold fusion.”

“Of course, Muriel,” Harvey replied, as he swept her into his arms for a loving kiss.

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I encouraged Maria to keep focusing on her breath.

By JS

Maria’s husband had left her for a younger woman. She was devastated to the point that she was not sleeping. Her appetite fell off and she lost almost 50 pounds, leaving the already slender woman a mere skeleton. Actually she woke up one day to realize she was on the point of death. Her ex had wiped out her finances and taken both children.

The realization that she herself was dying from stress - panic attacks making her a prisoner in the rented bedroom, which she would soon be kicked out of for non-payment – coupled with the thought of her dear children being brought up by THAT woman drove her to action. 

Maria did the only thing she had the thought and resources for. Struggling out of bed one morning, she walked unsteadily the half mile through the woods, adjusted the outside gas line at her old house and, after an appropriate wait, threw in a match. 

Maria walked slowly away, but was gone long before the emergency vehicles arrived. She came to live with me a couple of days later. Her panic attacks continue, and I encourage Maria to sit by the window and keep focusing on her breath.

Session December 29, 2018

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Sometimes it works against our comfort to further the greater good.

By MD

Clyde was the most chauvinistic, sanctimonious, condescending man I’d ever met. But I was new to the job, he was my supervisor, and I knew I’d have to keep my mouth shut to keep my job. So it surprised me when he started flirting with me – not in an aggressive or obnoxious way; mind you – but actually gallant, in an almost chivalric way. Of course I was suspicious.

When he asked me out to dinner, I was torn. Should I go? I thought about it and finally I came up with a possible solution. 

“I’ll tell you what,” I said to Clyde. “I’ll have dinner with you if you can beat me at arm wrestling.” Clyde was surprised, but he agreed..

As we seated ourselves on opposite sides of the table and locked eyes, Clyde said “Sometimes it works against our comfort to further the greater good.”

“Go!” I cried. In mere seconds, I flattened his forearm on the table and held it there as I smiled at him. “I win!”

“You stupid bitch,” Clyde sneered. “You’re fired.”

“No, actually,” I replied to Clyde. “You’re fired. You didn’t know it, but I’m your bosses wife. I’m here undercover, and it’s my pleasure to put an end to your tenure here.” I smiled beguilingly at him. “Sometimes it works against our comfort to further the greater good. That’s my hubby’s favorite phrase too.”

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I packed one of my mother's suitcases and I went away.

by BG

Floyd had gone just too far now. I am all for having pets. Some of them can be fun to watch. Some can be enjoyable companions, others are useful to have around the house. Generally, Floyd has been very good about all the work involved in keeping them all healthy, fed and watered. Periodically,  I do pitch in and walk the dogs or feed the fish or water the horses. I enjoy hearing the birds sing and feel special when one of the cats chooses my lap to settle into and purr. But Floyd has now taken leave of his senses.

Last week he went off on a business trip and I was in charge of the menagerie. We had a fine time. They were all good, no mishaps, and I was really finding it pleasant to be surrounded by this animal family he had created. That ended the day Floyd came home from traveling with his newest additions. I am sorry but I see no way that I will ever consider them a part of my household. I advised Floyd that they were to be temporary visitors only and he would have to find them their next destination to visit very fast. I was going to get impatient very soon. 

Then, before a week had even passed, Floyd came home and announced he had a follow up business trip. 

I said "Take them back where you got them."

He said "I can't."

I said "They're not staying with me." I took one look at them staring at me, turned and shook my head "no" at Floyd. Then I packed one of my mother's suitcases and I went away.

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They walked slowly down the hill towards the lake, carrying their lunch bags.

By CT

Jason and Claire worked in the R&D department at the Quill & Ink Factory, Inc.

They were excited to present their newest project, the Retractable Ink Pen – RIP, for short. 

Their manager, Dean Quill, held their precious invention in one hand, pressing the button that retracted the pen point. 

“This will never fly,” he said. “People are used to using quills dipped in ink. They don’t like change. You can come up with something better than this.” He dropped RIP in a trash basket.

Jason and Claire, despondent, returned to their desks. 

“Wanna picnic by the lake?” Jason pointed at his and then her lunch bags. 

“Yeah, okay,” Claire said. 

They walked slowly down the hill towards the lake, carrying their lunch bags and a RIP prototype.

At the lake’s edge, Jason threw their pen into the middle depths, as Claire intoned, “RIP, RIP.”

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Flying driverless vehicles may take to the airways this summer.

By CC

“Flying driverless vehicles may take to the airways this summer,” read the headlines. The woman of the house faced away from the window as she scanned the paper. Behind her, in the mulberry tree, an owl peered over her shoulder and shuddered. No longer interested in watching the woman’s hair for potential movement, the owl retreated into the hole in which it had made its nest a few months ago. The children, who called their mother Hoo, watched her face with concern. Hoo, she called to her children, who all shared the same name, we have a problem. Flying driverless vehicles may take to the airways this summer. And you haven’t even learned how to fly yet. 

Hoo! Said one of them. Huh?  Asked another. No, I meant Hoo generally, Hoo as an exclamation of concern, OK? This is scary!  Hoo! replied the other, I get it. Me too, said another. What’s a vehicle, Hoo asked Hoo. Hoo replied, it’s what those creatures (she turned her head around to face the hole, indicating the house outside it) use to move around. They’ve always crawled before. Now they’ll be up in the air like us. Knocking us out of the sky before we can even find dinner!

Hoo looked at one another in shock. Hoo asked them all, now who’s worried about it? You? Or You?  Hoo, I’m worried, said one, then all the others cried hoo, hoo, hoo. They were scared, all of them. And it was hard work later for Mother Hoo to even get them to jump out of the nest on a trial basis. A year later, half the Hoos were still ensconced,  dependent on their Mother to keep risking her life to bring them food, which didn’t bother her too much as she was tired of laying eggs.

And, as it came to pass, flying driverless vehicles never took to the airways at all, and the upset amongst the Hoos was another example of needless worry caused by groundless fears.

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Geography became the servant of altruistic paternalism.

By RMAF

Seemingly, the U.S.A. has become the servant of altruistic paternalism.

Session December 1, 2018

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“I want to turn back,” I yelled at him above the wind, but he still couldn’t hear me.

By MD

When Herbert told me about his infatuation with Rosita Wandella, I was skeptical from the get-go.

“Why on earth would any woman, even if she’s a goddess, want to have so many arms?” I asked Herbert. “The manicure costs alone would be astronomical.”

Herbert rolled his eyes at me. “That’s just the sort of stupid remark I’d expect from you,” he retorted. “The arms are symbols of Rosita’s mission. The extension of her core essence.”

I eyed him dubiously, but he continued. “Each arm embodies a different aspect of talent.” He shoved a photo of the poly-brachial Ms. Wandella under my nose. “Look,” he commanded. “Upper right is current creations. Upper left is links. And so on. Read the labels above each arm.”

I remained skeptical, but to humor him I agreed to attend a conference where Rosita Wandella had scheduled a personal appearance, arms and all. The lecture was titled “Arms and the Woman.” Herbert, of course, attended also. 

I sat still as long as I could through her speech, aware that Herbert was enthralled with her message. But after a little while, Rosita’s high-pitched nasal whine got to me and I began to snort and mock her in my own sonic bray. It was then that Rosita Wandella began waving all her arms at once, tossing gee-gaws and knick-knacks into the audience, striking some and injuring her followers. The maelstrom was astonishing. “I want to turn back,” I yelled at him above the wind, but he still couldn’t hear me. So I left. The last I heard of Herbert, he was a carnival barker at the circus “oddities” show, busking for his employer, “Rosita Wandella, Arachnid Extraordinaire.”

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He shuddered and felt like the devil walked over his grave.

By CT

Fenton loved Halloween, especially going through the Haunted House exhibits.

This year he was very excited because the Haunted House was in the Megrim Manor, a long-abandoned house. No-one knew what to expect on the inside.

Fenton was the first in line when the Manor opened. As he moved from room to room, he felt amazed at the creativity and intricacy of the decorations.

Shrouded figures peered around corners. Moans followed him wherever he went. A bloodied battle axe floated above a mantle. In the last room three small skeletons, obviously children, hung suspended. All three had great holes in the top of the skulls; the eye holes seemed to stare straight at him; and grisly smiles formed above the jawbones.

Fenton asked the ticket-taker outside who had created the decorations.

“Nobody,” said the man, “this is exactly how we found the house. Ain’t it a wonder?”

Fenton shuddered and felt like the devil walked over his grave.

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The Tibetan Plateau comes to an end in Yunnan.

By CC

The Tibetan Plateau comes to an end in Yunnan, Bilok Chong read on his iphone as he lay on the grass of the Red Dragon Egg park in Yunnan. He held the phone overhead and said, “Well, it could be said that the Tibetan Plateau begins in Yunnan. It just depends on your perspective and direction.”

He fanned out his arms and lay spread eagled on the short grass. It was a beautiful summer day, and just early enough to make a stroll on the Tibetan Plateau possible. He was pretty sure he could see it from the park.

Yes, he might as well. It was a spontaneous act, and he wanted to be more spontaneous. He stood up and walked across the rolling swells of the park and out into the neighborhood beyond.

He had not gone in this direction before and was soon lost in a development of empty high rise luxury apartments. The wind whipped around their stark edges in fury. He decided to go inside and try to get a better look at the surrounding area. However there was no electricity, so after climbing to the 57^th floor he decided to stop there and see what he could see. 

He went through a doorway into an empty apartment that looked out to the edges of the earth, it seemed. He could see a tiny white serration on the horizon and thought it might be the Himalayan mountains. They seemed altogether too far for a day’s stroll. 

Suddenly the door behind him slammed shut. He jerked around in surprise; was someone else here? Perhaps it was just the wind. Nonetheless, the door seemed to have locked, or been jammed shut. He wiggled the knob and latch fruitlessly, then put his shoulder to the door, then kicked it. It felt welded to the frame. He went back to the window. It was a long way down, but there appeared to be sufficient hand and foot holds if he just paced himself and braced against the wind. 

It was difficult breaking the window as all he had to work with was the iphone and he didn’t want to damage it. Eventually the glass shattered and fell outwards like a flock of translucent birds suddenly whipped away by gale force winds. 

Bilok secured the phone in a zipped pocket of his pants and climbed out the window quickly, not wanting to succumb to fear, which always happened if he dallied. It took him until evening to find his way to the ground, and then he had to watch carefully for broken glass. He didn’t want any stuck in his sneakers. His Mother would be furious.

It was time to head home and have some noodles at long last. Maybe tomorrow he would leave before dawn and try to reach those mountains. He smiled at the prospect. Life was good.

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Delos has always been considered one of ancient Greece’s most holy sites.

By RMAF

Some of the ancient Greeks would walk, ride horseback or wagon rides for days – even weeks – to the most holy site in Delos to be more spiritually glorified. There is a mountain there, some people referred to it as “Mystic Mountain.” On the high crest of the vortex mound still stands a lone tree which has neither grown larger, nor has it withered away.

Some people claim to have heard great wisdom flowing from the living tower of life. Some other believers feel great love and powers emitting from it.

Some non-believers didn’t make the journey, didn’t climb the mountain and didn’t receive the emanating natural powers, didn’t receive any messages, didn’t receive any rejuvenation in their spirit. 

That’s just he way it usually is, for seekers and non-seekers and believers and non-believers. 

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A vast area of land was sealed off in every direction all around.

By BG

News spread quickly. There was to be an attack on the kingdom. In preparation, a vast area of land was sealed off in every direction all around. The peasants were moved from their villages to a sector protected by great walls extending from behind the castle. The knights aided by every able-bodied man prepared defenses on cliffs in strategic positions along the coast. The Vikings were coming in by sea and the knights assured the King & Queen all would be ready and any attack would be thwarted long before the Vikings could reach anywhere near the castle. Scouts were sent out and returned with reports of the Vikings’ progress. The information they brought ended up as misinformation most of the time. The scouts had become very unreliable. Stories and rumors replaced facts. The thousands of warriors in hundreds of ships that were expected never appeared. The knights peered over the barricades of the first fortress on the cliff at the entrance to the Kingdom’s port with jaws dropped. Two dozen Vikings in one small boat rowed by as their sail seemed to be failing and uselessly fluttering. The knights then sent a messenger to the Castle that the attack would be a non-event.

Session November 3, 2018

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The imperial coat of arms with the eagle was first created by Charlemagne when he was crowned in 800.

By CC

It was a good day for a picnic at the beach. Pepin the Short tossed Charlemagne a stack of towels.  “Here, boy. Just take them down to that bench.”

Charlemagne threw the towels in the sand and kicked a rock out of his way. Pepin wasn’t long for this world. 

In his mind, Charlemagne toyed with ideas for a coat of arms. He had to devise something soon.  He grabbed a chicken off the bench and tore into it with his teeth. Bertrada raised her arm to swat at him but turned away tiredly. There was no controlling this one. He would break away soon.

For the family snap, they gathered by the table, littered with bottles of wine. Charlemagne stood at the left, arm around his girlfriend, Himiltrude. He had completed the design in his mind. But he needed to fact check first.

After the photograph was taken, he went back up to the car, looking for Pepin’s bible, a tattered copy of Einhard: The Life of Charlemagne by Samuel Turner.

How profoundly Charlemagne wanted to be free of his father’s bizarre historical obsession! He opened the book to a marked page:  The imperial coat of arms with the eagle was first created by Charlemagne when he was crowned in 800.  

Well, there’s a clue, he thought. An eagle. He looked out over the ocean and felt the pull of its vastness and power. He decided to kill his father over the weekend, took a note book out of his pocket and began to plan the event. 

Later, during the manhunt for Charlemagne, Chuck and Hilda slipped into Mexico and bought a food truck with Pepin’s secret treasure. They lived happily thus for years until buying a sailboat that later sank off Mazatlan, after which they were never seen again, though, as no-one ever actually looked, it could not be verified.

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The collective influence of the executive council was appreciated in London.

By TNT

Collective influence of the executive council had enormous power of control and the ability to consign any written or spoken words. Fake News was all that was allowed. Bookstores were closed and the black market literature was exceedingly popular. 

The last bookstore in London sold all its books to one dealer who would send children out in the streets to hawk classic authors – even Charles Dickens was banned. The collective influence of the executive council was appreciated in London.

 

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No matter how much money you make or how much you have in the bank, finances are stressful.

By MD

When Pam and Tim won the lottery, they did the smart thing, the thing “conventional wisdom” says you must: They kept their winning a secret until they acquired an attorney and a financial advisor.  “After all,” Pam said, “No matter how much money you make or how much you have in the bank, finances are stressful. Now that we are the lottery’s first billionaire winners, we have to learn how to manage our money and avoid the scalpers and the hangers on.”

“Right you are,” Tim said. So the two of them spent a month seeking advice, conducting interviews, and winnowing down the selections to one learned gentleman who was both an attorney and a financial advisor and a real estate agent.

So it happened that they followed his advice and bought a tropical island, away from the “money grubbers,” as their advisor termed it, where Tim and Pam could retire in peace and enjoy a new life with the primitive tribes who lived there. The couple was pleased with this solution to their financial anxieties and felt they had acquired their island at a bargain price – their attorney/financial advisor/real estate agent sold them his island for a “mere pittance” as he termed it. They paid just under a billion dollars. That was, in fact, all of their lottery winnings, but the ambiance and solitude of the island made it ideal for them.

So it was on their first night there, after settling all the furniture in their cozy nest, Pam laid out a romantic beach side dinner for the two of them, to celebrate their good fortune. Unfortunately, their attorney/financial advisor/real estate agent, whose name, by the way, was Dewey Cheatem, failed to mention the active volcano looming in the center of the island. Just as Pam finished putting the finishing touches on the table setting, and Tim had poured the wine, the volcano erupted and the island sank into the sea. Which meant it was Dewey Cheatem who was the actual lottery winner and it was his turn to learn the lesson “No matter how much money you make or how much you have in the bank, finances are stressful.” And ain’t that the truth?

Session October 6 2018

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Forgetting negates the meaning of history.

By RMAF

Salacious Selena Samantha always kept a dizzying life of twirling between the opposites: angels and devils, right and wrong, loud and soft, highs and lows, sweet and sour, darkness and light, and present times and historical times. She always felt a part of two worlds, and she was being tugged on from two totally different, strong entities on opposite sides. She decided to simplify her crowded thoughts and make some changes. She decided to forget half of all her beliefs, starting with complex history. Although she has always been told by her wise father that studying history helps us to understand and improve our present and improve on our future, forgetting history negates its meaning and values. 

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He knows what he likes and what he does not.

By BG

Hal was finally going for it. He had a girl and was ready to tie the knot. He hadn’t taken the same route as all his college buddies and they had been worried about him.  Each and every one of them had married their college sweethearts within 5 years of graduation. Hal, however, had made it to their 10 year reunion still wild and single. They took him aside and proposed that they find him the girl of his dreams. They assured him they could. They assured him they knew his likes and dislikes and could take care of everything. It took a bit of convincing, but Hal finally gave in and told them to give it a try. After all, they quoted over and over, “He knows what he likes and what he does not.” And we know what he knows. So he acquiesced to their insistence. He told them he was going to set a date for the wedding and put in his time-off request so there would be a honeymoon right afterwards. His buddies set to work straight away and the big day had finally arrived. There he stood at the altar. She was ready to come down the aisle. Hal looked up and exclaimed “Wow.”

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A woman in a red dress holds a crescent moon aloft.

By CT

To celebrate the New Moon, a woman stands in her flower garden amidst the sunflowers. Just as she begins her late afternoon ritual, a monarch butterfly lands lightly on a nearby flower.

The woman, wearing a red dress , holds a crescent moon aloft in reverence and joy.

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There is something about a baked potato that is so comforting.

By JS

I spent a lot of time debating. Should I run the half-marathon or not? There was all that talk about Miller’s Bridge – the County didn’t want to replace it; but would the repairs hold yet another year? Only twenty-five people were signed up for the run. How much damage could 50 feet, pounding down to the finish line, do to the old wood structure?

I signed up. If the others were unafraid, why should I play the coward. Besides, there was the all you can eat baked potato feed at the end. All my favorite toppings: sour cream, chives, bacon – about anything you’d want. 

That morning I was not, you might say, at the front of the pack. Dead last would be more accurate. My fellow runners made quite the din as they hit Miller’s Bridge, all packed together like a stampeding cattle herd. When they hit mid-point on the bridge, there was a crunching, cracking, splintering sound and they all, every last one, vanished before my eyes! I was going too fast to stop, and with the assurance of sour cream on baked potato on the far side, I jumped, positive I’d bridge the gap. There is something about a baked potato that is so comforting.

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I told myself he could surely survive another month, and I was not over concerned for his safety.

By MD

I work for Today’s Bride magazine. Surely that qualifies me as a wedding trend expert. I was honored and excited to be assigned to cover the magazine’s first bi-racial lesbian wedding. My husband, however, was not so pleased. 

“This could be dangerous,” he told me. “There might be protests. The religious right, the ACLU, the white supremacists – it could turn violent. I don’t want you to go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied. “This is a piece of history. I’ve got to be there. I’ve got to record this momentous event.”

It took some strong words, but I finally convinced him to let me go. What I didn’t know was that he planned to follow me there – spying on me, as I later interpreted it. 

It was a truly lovely affair. Both brides were beautiful, the ceremony touching and poignant, the guests delighted to attend. It was my husband who caused the uproar. Just as the minister proclaimed “I now pronounce you wife and wife,” my husband suddenly made his presence known by shouting “You mean woman and woman!” I was mortified. As the two brides huddled together, each protecting the other, I took a last photo from behind and then tackled my husband and took him down. He did not arise. The paramedics were summoned and he was taken to the hospital. They told me he was in a coma. 

I told myself he could surely survive another month, and I was not over concerned for his safety. I returned to the historic wedding celebration, congratulated the two brides, and feasted on roast beef and wedding cake.

To my everlasting gratification, my rear view photo of the two women, side by side in their wedding garb, made the cover of Today’s Bride. I was truly a part of that historic event. I was wrong about my husband, though. He died of his injuries a week after the wedding.

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In winter there is no need to get up early.

By CC

They hung on by a thread. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had left, all they could manage, all they could handle. He stood at the stove, stirring a pot of curried rice. The scent passed over her like a memory; outside the sun turned down a notch, casting shadows over the Sudoku pad on the table in front of her.

Winter was coming. In winter there is no need to get up early. They would probably turn to stone in their bed one night. 

But it wasn’t here yet. They were still hanging on. She walked to the open door and looked out. The wind blew ashes past her feet.  “It’s still burning,” she announced to no-one. 

He left the stove and walked over to the door to stand next to her. He set his hand companionably on her shoulder.  “Did you think it had gone out?”

“No. I don’t think that’s possible, do you?”

“Not anymore. Let’s shut the door. Dinner’s ready, anyway.”

They sat at the table, silently spooning rice into their mouths, until they had finished.

“Winter is coming,” he said suddenly.

“I just had that thought earlier,” she replied.