With his hands folded behind his back, Devon stared out the storm door window. Tears trickled down his cheeks, leaving salty watermarks. The beauty he had ignored for so many years had become untouchable. He could no longer smell the flowers, touch the tender leaves, nor feel the breeze on his cheeks as he stood in the shade under the silver maple tree in the front yard. I wish I spent more time appreciating the beautiful gift. The Crepe myrtles are still in bloom.

Devon looked over his shoulder as he heard his daughter, Sabine, speaking. Devon called out, “Hon…


The Morning a Gaggle of Geese Meditating Took Me by Surprise

Most mornings, when I step outside the back door and into the sanctuary, the noise of the honking, lively geese meet me. They are an active bunch — swimming, splashing, flying, or pecking around the flora searching for sustenance.

In one end, out the other, as they leave behind deposits from their digestive remains. On many occasions, I have had to rinse the soles of my shoes because of the landmines they leave behind.

Peak mating season, the geese remind me of a scene from a crowded barroom fight. Two testosterone-laced alpha ganders vying for the affections of an estrous…

A Poem of Despair and Hope

Something New Rises

Like the leaf gently swaying in the breeze, we fall. Before we settle, we are blown about by the changing winds, trampled by unconcerned feet, gradually disappearing into ourselves as the decaying leaf disappears into the ground.

Everything falls, you see. Yet, in death, the leaf — without lament — provides nutrients to replenish the tree—something new rises. The leaf lives again in the tree.

Are we dead inside?

Can we live again?

Will we live again?

We fall. Broken physically, emotionally, or spiritually, we rise. Many of us rise never to find wholeness. Something new but sad rises. …


Life lessons taught by the little things that fly into your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

The swarming gnats appear like dust motes dancing on the sunbeams. In a circular pattern, dancing ever tighter like the planets around the sun, the males and females prepare to mate. They look so busy and so active, though, from my perspective, their purpose is unknown. The designer of designs knows. Locked in the gnat's DNA, messages are sent and received that will perpetuate their way.

A short time and then the gnats are gone, not to be seen for another season. To me, their disappearance has no rhyme or reason.

In many ways, people are like gnats. So many…


The Whole Toad News Service is always the first in fabricated un-fact checked fakery

Today thousands of M-dium writers report mysteriously losing hundreds — some writers thousands — of their followers on the ever-growing online publication not to be mentioned by name in this story.

But, hey, even I like to get the coveted Chosen for Further Distribution award. So let's keep the pub anonymous to protect my innocence.

One financial analyst for Falling Star Financials stated, “This drop in followers resembles the stock market crash after the housing market bubble burst in 2008. The question on our minds at Falling Star, “Will they ever turn to a Bull readership again?”

The Editor and…


The Worst Environmental Disaster Since 2010 Gulf Oil Spill

In recent news, all have heard about Chick-Fil-A’s super-secret sauce shortage. The company has resorted to limiting one packet per family.

At the corporate headquarters in Atlanta, everyone is hush-hush about the logistical nightmare of shipping more sauce to their local restaurants.

One store manager complained, “Durn took two hours to get through the customer support hotline. There is nothing worse than the look of disappointment on little Liam or Ava's face when they realize they don’t have enough sauce to cover their six-piece chicken nuggets. …


A Poem to Lighten the Way

At the point of tears, finally, I arrive.
Here for a moment, maybe two.
Who knows how long?
Though the present is eternity.
Awareness is fragile like a flickering candle;
so quickly extinguished by the subtle breeze.
Distracted by the will-o-wisps,
the shifting winds carry me.
The pain of losing my glimmer of bliss,
I am deeply amiss.
The dark plague of regret,
with imagined foresight filled with frets,
my mind is enthralled.
The soft glow rises from the depths of my heart.
Imago Dei lifts my eyes far above the shimmering stars.
With a smile and a knowing, the Divine sets my heart aglow.
A whisper blows…


How I the Old Toad Saved Millions from Certain Death at the Gas Pumps

The Old Toad’s Personal Account of The Events

While out for my afternoon drive in my eco-friendly Tesla Model X, I, the Editor-in-Chief at the Whole Toad News Service, discovered many Americans' fuelish and hysterical behavior because of a self-inflicted gas crisis.

At every street corner, lines formed out into the streets blocking traffic. In my current assignment, every street corner has a gas station. Lines upon lines of panicked gas guzzlers burning what fuel is left in the tank and pouring carbon into the atmosphere, angrily and impatiently waiting so they can fill up. …

Fiction with a Hint of Horror

His Methods Unconventional but Effective

To block out the invasion of light, Pearson squinted so tightly tears flowed from his tear ducts. With the shades down and the covers pulled over his head, the morning’s glow lit up the room to interrupt his much-needed sleep. The sunlight reflected off the still waters to magnify the light to what seemed like midday brightness.

At the time, this single-bedroom cottage on the Currituck Sound was the only place available for my needed privacy. The off-season price for this Air BNB was too reasonable to refuse, but who in their right mind builds the only bedroom facing east…

Don Feazelle

Writer, philosopher, humorist, observer of life, an all-around lovable guy.

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