20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Irish Colleen

It had been an exhausting trip for Colleen, but, finally she was at the front of the pub that had belonged to her family in England for over 150 years. Colleen, having been born in Georgia, in the United States had heard of this place since she was a child, sitting on her Grandpa’s knee.

Her Grandpa had always called her his, “Irish Colleen”, with her flowing red tresses. Suddenly, it felt real, she WAS that “Irish Colleen”.

“Colleen!” a voice shouted. She looked ahead in astonishment. Her cousin, Siobahn, was her mirror image! Grandpa was right! Irish genes were strong!


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Under a Rotting Log

Under a Rotting Log

 

 

It was a simply beautiful spring day.” She thought. She couldn’t help but take in the tiny buds on flowers, mosses, now growing on damp stones, even the azure sky over head seemed especially lovely.

 

She reached down and gently lifted a rotting log, encased in a curly gray lichen. Just as she picked it up, a shiny creature writhed towards the from underneath the log

 

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It’s just a blue-tailed skink, laughed her brother, a lizard!

 

She felt a little foolish, still, after all the excitement, she was sure the memory of this spring adventure would remain with her always.

 


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The Resolution

“So,” Mr.  Shelburn smirked, as he swayed by my desk, already overloaded with work that accumulated during the holiday. “What is your New Years Resolution?”

I forced myself to breathe in-slowly. I was seething inside.

“Sure,” he laughed, glancing down at the mass of papers that seemed to clutter my desk already.

“Hmm,” I sighed, looking up at his arrogant grin. “You want a resolution? “ I stacked the pile of papers, crumpled them into a  wad, then merrily tossed them into the trash can.

“My promise is to realize what is REALLY important in life, and do away with the rest.”

Suddenly, everyone smiled.


The Red Kettle Man

Walking towards the grocery store in the December wind, we heard the familiar bell of a Salvation Army Volunteer.
“What’s that sound?” asked my five-year old grandson.
“He’s called a volunteer.” My teenager replied. “He collects money for people who don’t have anything.”
“My grandson looked up at me and asked, “Beebee, can we give them something?” “Sure,” I said, reaching for some change.
He smiled as he listened to the coins jingling into the red kettle.
“God Bless you!” the older man said as we walked by.
“He already has.” replied my grandson.03210020

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