Scribes Valley Publishing
"Usually you don't say boo! You could talk a lot more," Sarah said seriously.
"You say enough for both of us!" Woody snapped.
"Ouch! We are getting off on the wrong foot here, aren't we! So, you think I talk too much! Well then, you can sleep on the couch tonight, husband!"
"I didn't say, well, not exactly... you don't talk too much, I didn't say that... perhaps, but, then, you just use more words..."
The hole Woody dug got deeper and deeper...
Christmas is a stressful time... so take care...
by Carolyn Ann Aish, Inglewood, New Zealand"What about fall?" I asked.
"FALL? Are you kidding?" Woody huffed indignantly before continuing his rant. "What a crummy name FALL!"
I sighed. "That's a pretty sad way of looking at things, Woody."
"SAD?" He grinned wickedly.
I could have kicked myself for my poor choice of words. I knew what was coming next.
"You hit THAT nail on the head! I've had this nasty old seasonal affective disorder thing my whole dang life!"
by Ric Hardson, USAHumming to himself, the shopkeeper thumbed through slick pages. Flipping to May, he smiled. His birthday would be on a Sunday. He perused all the pictures, noted when July Fourth, Thanksgiving, and Christmas would fall. Curiosity satisfied, Woody hung the calendar on the wall hook.
Jingling sleigh bells called out as the shop door swung inward. Turning toward the counter, Woody's face crumpled a bit.
"I'll get my things," he whispered to the tall, quiet figure.
With a glance at the calendar he would never use, Woody stepped tentatively outside into the frigid, ebony night.
A golden glow spilled from the waiting coach. Shaking his head to clear it of cobwebs, his face lit up into a smile.
After twenty years alone, Mrs. Woody had returned.
by Daphne Rice, Portland, OR