File #984: "Mosaic_Spring2008_4.jpg"

FRIEND. I KNOW IT MADE HIM HAPPY to HEAR FROM an OLD SCHOOL friend. AGAIN, THANK YOU FOR BEING HIS FRIEND."

Sitting in frozen silence, she faintly heard the beat of her own heart keeping time with flashing memories of the blonde, mischievous schoolboy destined to live on in the delicate visions of her mind's eye, which time could never fade, at peace, satisfied that she had reconnected with her childhood sweetheart and for the precious communication before his passing. She knew she'd received a priceless gift of a special love, a childhood sweetheart love of which time and distance could never separate, a love that would live forever, deep within her heart.

Ode to Newspaper
Randi Hill

Rolling across the table
A small thud hitting the floor
Only an old rumpled mass
And nothing more
Does it taste as old as it smells?
Musty and of ink
I'd rather not find out
I'll make someone else try. I think
Colors of sepia
Arid streaks of grey
No one could ever read this
In any way
This old rumpled mass
This newspaper from the past
Had a story to tell
And it won't be the last.