Memoirous

Corners in the Tiny House are so dark. So I turn on my plant grow lights. We all have SAD. I can see the rain splatter the deck and remember--- The blue jay and cardinal cavorting in the wet grass a moment earlier, the colors decorating the brown grass, and remember--- This too shall pass. My brother Steve sent, in a series of emails, Google pics of the houses our family lived in (not including the serial moves my parents made when fully retired). He used each image to riff on flash memories, really just skimming the surface, of what he recalled most about each place. He should commit to doing a writing study, micro series, of flash memoir using the images as prompts. I used the “the Kettering house on Hackney” to get an overhead view and found the name of the creek I fell into, that my mother had to come pull me out of. It looks like a cement ravine with a trickle of water running through it. Little Beaver Creek. Steve also sent an image of the Wick’s house, former neighbors...