nota bene

Verses on the futility of unread books, presented as a nota bene (handwriting Hs. I 300, City Library of Mainz)

“Take this down,” I said. Two shades sprang up, one more agile than the other, stood poised and ready.

I ran my fingers along a dusty mantel.

How to begin?

“To Whom It May Concern.” Friends.

I hesitated, unaccustomed to the sunlight streaming in through my two windows to the world at large.

“Now reblogged, then nominated, somehow . . . ” despite the shadows.

I squint into the sunny brightness, the dust motes like butterflies.

“. . . to both a due and hearty thanks . . . .” surely no more, no less rather than to carry on so til grace given is grace lost.

“That will do.”

The shades sprang down from their high perches, still gaping, and light stood like pillars under their cargo.

Even so back to books and lamplight, and Thou, my guardian.

The Three Sisters

What betrayals do we unwittingly commit in mistaking selfish desires for selfless love? Happy to recommend a newly published fairy tale, “The Three Sisters,” a wise meditation on men, women, and our expectations one of the other. As C. S. Lewis once said, “Sometimes fairy stories say best what needs to be said.”

Once upon a time there were three brothers who lived with their parents in the midst of a vast forest. If there were any other people in the forest, they knew nothing of them, for they found no tra…

Source: The Three Sisters – Metaphorosis Magazine

Technitos

So happy to share with you another short story from Wallie’s Wentletrap, this time published in the current Summer 2017 issue of The Sonder Review. The story “Technitos,” can also viewed here, and will particularly interest those with a bent for science fiction (androids, techs, & such) but is finally a deeply moving tale about, as the editors of the SR put it,  just what it means to be human. So take a look & see if it isn’t worth your time!

The Burlap Bag

One wintry Thursday morning, under a queer blurry sky, an old woman trekked down a bustling city street with an unsightly burlap bag hanging from her shoulder. The people that passed her noted her appearance which seemed awfully ordinary except for the bag, of course, which couldn’t possibly be a handbag.

Every once in a while she would stop and ask a passerby something, then shake her head and keep walking. This happened from early morning to evening so that the people who passed her while on their way to the office or store would pass her again on their way back. The ones she had already stopped and spoken with would give her a wide berth more often than not. She really did seem strange, but in a familiar sort of way.

Continue reading “The Burlap Bag”

Lara’s Tree

A story for children of all ages and a winner! Congratulations! As the Bethlehem Writer’s Group announced: “The challenge was to write a children’s story for any age, preschool through middle school, in 2000 words or fewer. From a large number of delightful, exciting, and intriguing stories, these two (see link) made it into the top three. We think you’ll agree that they are exceptional.” (Update: click here for link to  “Lara’s Tree” and “Rider in Black.”)

Wallie's Wentletrap

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Of course trees can talk to you. Sometimes they make the best of friends.

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Elder Norbit’s Walk in the Park (cont.)

(This is the second of a two-part story. For the first, click here.)

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© Wallie’s Wentletrap, all rights reserved.

It seems a blur and to this day Norbit is hard put to explain exactly what transpired in the moments after his foot’s encounter with a figure in a shimmering suit and hat of purple riding what appeared to be a bicycle, playing what looked to be a miniature keyboard.

Continue reading “Elder Norbit’s Walk in the Park (cont.)”

Elder Norbit’s Walk in the Park


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Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body. (Hebrews 13:1-3)

Elder Jud Norbit was a wizened old man, weathered by work and age. He left for his office at a quarter past seven and returned at a half-past six every day except Sundays. He was met at the door by his manservant, Pritcherd, who wore a sympathetic look just as effortlessly as he anticipated every movement in his boss’s routine. There was a nod that passed between them, a glance aside for the mail and afternoon paper, a glass of whisky at his elbow as he sat in his armchair by the fire in the winter, by the window in the summer, and then a decent meal with Mrs. Gray serving in her white apron, followed by a steaming cup of cider in the winter, tea in the summer, on a polished silver tray at his desk in the study. A quick look at the accounts and the necessaries on his computer, a brief email sent here and there, and he closed his browser and rose and stretched. It had been a long day.

Continue reading “Elder Norbit’s Walk in the Park”