by David W. Stoner | Apr 21, 2019 | Short Stories
Obli, my spiritual grandfather, taught me how to hear, a bud opening to reveal a flower, the bear turning over in slumber, a falling leaf. And then he taught me to see, stars above the blue sky, wind parted by a formation of geese, blood pumping through the redwood...
by David W. Stoner | Dec 24, 2018 | Short Stories
She settles into her chair across from me, pulling her legs up in a sukhasana, and smiles. Do you mind? she asks. Of course not, I say. Sitting this way is more comfortable. Would you like a cup of coffee? I would love a cup of coffee, thank you. I watch her leave the...
by David W. Stoner | Jul 27, 2016 | Short Stories
At first, she thought it was a dream, but she’d felt the whisper of breath tickle her cheek and the gentle stroke along her back. Elise stared up at the strange shape of pale light on the ceiling. Outlines of things in the room began to take shape in her...
by David W. Stoner | Oct 7, 2015 | Blog
Whenever I awaken from my dreams of you, a deep sadness overcomes me. I don’t know how I am pulled into these dreams, those dreams that bring me peace, but I do know that those comfortless moments that linger at the edge of my dream, that come just before the full...
