Peaches

I open the window with force to see what the commotion is. The street is filled with people standing and screaming. I see a glimpse of a shoeless foot, sock hanging. Long red hair catches my eyes, as does the smashed front windshield of a small car.

An ambulance approaches blaring its siren and the crowd shifts to the sidewalk.

Now I see the victim is my next-door neighbor and my heart palpitates.

Sitting on my lap is her kitten Peaches, who I pet sit.

I coddle the furry cat in my arms, and realize I’ll be his home now.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Gratitude

“So nice,” Sarah thought, reciprocating a friendly wave.

She would’ve helped if her arthritic hands weren’t an issue. Instead, she watched the next door neighbor bend countless times to weed a bountiful garden.

When showy bouquets were presented at her front door, Sarah returned the favor with her baking. When her husband died, the neighbor had arranged funeral flowers free of charge.

Drought settled the following year. Flowering plants suffered. Rosebuds dried, not getting a chance to bloom. Much of the garden had dwindled.

Unlike the blossoming friendship between the two women, who found themselves together at a seniors’ lodging.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.