Cracked Flash Fiction Competition: Year 1, Week 38: Results!

Cracked Flash Fiction Competition: Year 1, Week 38: Results!: Excellent entries all around! Many apologies for the lateness of the awards post. Si's week basically looked like this: *weeps into ...

A Fun Run for the Developing Writer’s Brain

Check out my latest blog post at saracodair.com

Cracked Flash Fiction Competition: Year 1, Week 36: Results!

Cracked Flash Fiction Competition: Year 1, Week 36: Results!: A worthy meme for this blog indeed. Awesome entries all around you guys! I love how some weeks we have wildly different stories with t...

Cracked Flash Fiction Competition: Year 1, Week 35: Results!

Cracked Flash Fiction Competition: Year 1, Week 35: Results!: Welcome back to our weekly judging session! Si was under time constraint and so the task fell to Mars to find something to put here. Sh...

Reflection on 60 degrees in February

Spring? By Sara Codair Toes sink into cool muck while the birds welcome the warmth with their song. The ice is almost gone. The breeze raises goose bumps on my bare arms, but that is not the point. The point is that they are bare. The cat was out with me, but the noise of people waking from winter hibernation chased him inside, back to his fluffy warm perch by the window where a layer of glass keeps him safe from big wide world and all its scary cliché’s. I want to go run, but I’ve already showered and I need to go to work soon. I want to dip my toes in the ocean, feel the col salt numb them to the bone and let the sand scrape away layers of dead skin while the salt heals the places where my nails dug to deep while trying to remove that dead skin in the bathroom. I want to see the king fisher and the duck, but not the swan, because lets face it, he is pretty scary with his flesh tearing beak and greedy stomach. I have two days left of being 30 - 3, then I will be 30 – 2. I’ll only be two years away from that three zero number that means I can’t run from adulthood any longer because I’m way into it an getting close to old. Its not spring, but it feels like it, and feels like it is enough to shake the clouds from my brain and make my eyes open wide. It’s enough to make my body feel light to dance across the soggy earth. It’s enough to give me hope.

Snow Day Poem

Polar Plunge By Sara Codair Kids are swimming in snow. Literally. Two of them, bundled up to twice their width in blue jackets, snow pants, mittens and scarves jumped off a dock into snow that was up to their waist. They waddled and wobbled and used their arms to propel themselves forward through the powdery white stuff that covers the ice that was once a lake all those months ago when the sun was golden warm and the water was shimmering blue.

Today I spent just a few short hours at the beach. I played with my cousin's children, sat in the sun, smelt the salt air, enjoyed the breeze. I didn't walk anywhere, I didn't look for seaglass. I just relaxed, enjoying one of the last few weeks of peace, one of the last weeks of summer before I return to work in September. Before I return to the world of classes, essay assignments, grades and students. Before the words completely swallow up my life, my self and my spirit. Today, I just sat taking everything in. I let the world fly by, let worries about houses and contractors fly far away from my mind. I am home again, at my little house near the lake. I can't smell the salt or hear the ocean waves lapping on shore. However, I can hear the trees rustling in the breeze, wind chimes, and the distant hum of boat engines and lawn mowers. It is still peaceful, but it is time to work. Time to prepare for the anticipated craziness that will replace my lazy, unstructured summer life.