I still make my mother's molasses cookies every once in a while - usually around holidays. After she passed on I would make a batch before every family get together. My dad in particular loved them until he passed on as well. The smell of those molasses cookies are pretty much the closest I'll ever to that feeling of being in my childhood home. It's good to still have something that can do such magic for me, and to have a way for me to share the experience of who my parents were with others, even though they're gone.

Crossing Over

Submission to the Flashfic July 2017 contest (150 word stories)

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We two small souls await the twilight.
When it comes we know not.
In these inconstant days our vigil is made worse for having no measure. Every moment is an eternity and hope struggles, heaves for breath beneath the crushing unknown.
We two small souls, weary of life made grey, shiftless, selfish, craven, mean of spirit, empty of laughter. Without cause life holds no purpose. A present without past has no compass, no direction, no future.
Enough!
We two small souls will tilt against the amorphous vast. We two, offered up, ephemeral certainty, an unforeseen foundation from which to cast down chaos and once again shed Harmony upon the land.
One chance only we will have, when day ends and all shadows move, when two small shadows may hope to cross the chasm unseen.
We two small souls await.
And there is no avoiding this crossing, for this is war.