Imagination

Zebras Across Africa

by

Heaven Forbid School of Excellence           In The Pines, Georgia

After Lunch, Fifth Period, English Creative Writing.

“Mrs. Whippoorwill, this is Janice Noteworthy from Heaven Forbid School. How are you, dear heart?  I have a favor to ask of you. I need a fill-in teacher for a three month assignment to finish out the school year.  I know you are retired, but I could really use your help.”

“Well Janice, dear heart, I called it quits last year after thirty years of dedication to my students and profession, but my school days are over.  I’m sorry, but I can’t help you out.  Besides, I’m about  to take a trip of a lifetime to Africa.  Never been there.  I watch the Travel Channel and you should see the zebras running in the wild across Africa. Across the grassy savanna plains.  It’s their home, where they belong and not in captivity like a zebra zoo.  You know, many think zebras are white horses painted with black stripes.  That is nothing but nonsense.  They are not horses.  They are zebras.  A completely different herd.  I’m taking a safari to see them up close.  I’ve saved a long time for this trip. You know teachers never get a vacation. This may be the only one I ever get for the rest of my days.  I must go.”

“Now, exactly, when does your tour leave?  Next week or three months from now?  Helene, dear heart, I could really use your help. What can you do for me?” said Janice with hopeful expectation and a genuine smile. “Janice, dear heart,  I have rheumatism now.  You know an old lady can’t stand up much anymore.”  

Janice thinking to herself…There must be a way to accommodate her.  She was a star teacher.  With all the high tech electronics available today, she really doesn’t have to stand at all.  She could teach the old fashioned way, seated behind her desk.  And the students could stay in their place. She could teach from her tablet and the students could learn from their tablets. I got an idea.  I will appeal to her ego.

“You know, Helene, dear heart, you were one of the best.  A lot of students moved on to higher education because of you. Now there are some in very lucrative careers. Surgeons, lawyers, and even landscapers. All in professions of compassion and service. See what you did for them?  I could arrange free consultations for you with any of them. Need surgery for your osteoarthritis?  I can hook you up.   Any personal injuries such as falls at the senior center or a slip on the supermarket floor?  There’s money waiting for you.  And I know you always need your hedge trimmed and your lawn mowed.”

“You know, I could use a little help.  What do you need Janice, dear heart?” said Mrs. Whippoorwill with a bit of a smile while bracing herself on her cane.  “Maybe I still do have a little punch to teach.”

“Helene, dear heart, you were the very best math teacher in the district.  All of your students excelled.”  “Yes, I did teach them their numbers.  At least they can count today. The new ones coming up don’t need to count.  Just let the electronics do it for them.  I think there are still some numbers to teach.  What math class do you need help with, dear heart?”  “I need you to teach something new. English, well it’s creative writing.  If you can teach math, you can teach anything.  This will be a piece of cake. Just tell them to write, but inspire them.  They really need some motivation,”  said Janice hoping for a deal.

“Heaven forbid, Janice.  I can’t teach English, much less writing.  I’m a numbers person.” “Mrs. Whippoorwill sing me a song, please.  Do whatever you need to do.  It’s your classroom and they will abide by  your rules.  You’ll see.”

“Okay, Janice, I will agree to the three months, but if they become too difficult,  I will give you my notice in a heartbeat.  When do I start?”  “Your class will start on Monday. Its right after lunch, fifth period.  Good  kids.  Just need a little motivation.  See you then?” “You did say this is a behind the desk job?  Great to hear,  see you then.”

After lunch, Monday afternoon.  Fifth period English-Creative Writing.

“Okay class, let’s get it together.  It’s time to start creative writing.  By the way I’m your new teacher, Mrs. Whippoorwill.  Let me take roll.  Butch?  ‘Here.’   Baby Face? ‘Here, but don’t want to be here’  Pinky Dee?  ‘I’m here, ya know. ‘ Jolene? ‘Mama said to come. Ahm here.”  Johnny Lee?  ‘I’m here, ma’am.’  Well someone with manners.  I bet you know your numbers.  Patsy Ann?  ‘I don’t feel well.  The fried chicken was good tasting, but my tummy is rumbling. May I go see the nurse?’ Well, are you here?  ‘Yes, teacher, I am here.’  You may go see the nurse, but you don’t want to miss out on the creativity in class today.  Hurry back. And Tank?  Tank, are you here?  ‘Whip-whip-whip-poor-will, I’m here.’  Very good, now on to our numbers, I mean creative writing.”

“Welcome to creative writing, young ladies and gentlemen.  This is supposed to be a fun class, so let’s make it that way.  What is creative writing, anyone know? Yes, Patsy Ann.” “I think it’s writing whatever you want with no rules.”  “Very good.  You are onto the idea.  Anyone else know what it is to creatively write?”  “Its, well, ya know, easy writing. You don’t even need to know how to spell,” said Pinky Dee.  “Well, you do need to know how to spell, but we do leave something out.  Anyone know?”  “I know, ma’am. Don’t need to use any puntruation.”  “I think you mean punctuation, Johnny Lee. “Tank, what do you know about writing?”  “Nothin’.  Don’t care to write.”  Mrs. Whippoorwill thinking to herself…What a pity.  He really doesn’t know how to write.  I wonder if there are others.  It’s probably because they never learned their numbers.  But I can’t teach math in here.  We will start with basics, vocabulary and writing a sentence.  It’s got to be simple. I do not want to embarrass this young boy or anyone else.

“Let’s see.  Writing with no rules.  Easy writing.  Yes, punctuation is used.  What else is there about creative writing that’s different from standard English?” “I think you kinda write without complete words.  Instead of going, it’s goin’ ,” said Butch. “Yes Butch, incomplete words can be used, but I prefer complete words.  How about you, Jolene?” “Mama never taught us much about writin’, but I wanna learn it. I don’t know English very well.” “You will learn how to write well in here.  I think creative writing allows us to start writing without the rules and we apply them later.  You’ll see.”  “I’m looking for that baby face.  Baby Face, show your face.  There you are.  What is the main thing that is really different about creative writing?”  “I know because my Gramma writes in her own style.  She said it’s a free style of writing.  Just let the thoughts flow into your mind, then write them down on paper.” “You have just identified the main approach to creative writing.  It is the free flow of thoughts and ideas inside your head. Then you write them down.  Awesome, Baby Face.”

“Let’s give it a try.  We will do a sentence together.  Here’s a word to start, zebra.  We will write about zebras.  Just relax and imagine a herd of zebras running across a field. Anyone know what a zebra is?” “It’s a white horse with striped pajamas,” said Patsy Ann laughingly. “A zebra is not a horse, it’s a zebra.  A completely different herd,” said Johnny Lee.  “Where can zebras be found?  I see your hand, Pinky Dee. Go ahead.”  “In the Zebrarama.  The zebra ranch.”  “I know Mrs. Whip-whip-whip-poor-will. In Africa.  I’ve seen them on TV.  There are lots of them there.  All running free,” said Tank.  “Yes indeed, running free across Africa.  Okay, Baby Face, wrap it up for us.”  “Zebras live free and run across Africa.”

“What have we learned today?  A sentence.  What is it?”  All say “Zebras Across Africa.”

Copyright 2026 Frank Clark

Dream Big

by

It’s okay to dream big. It could be the start of something big. Dream about it, think about it, dream about it. Keep it fresh in your mind. Write It Down. This will help you focus and ponder how to make it come true. Yes, you can make it come true. As you go along, a path will develop on how to get there.

Three Boys And The Icebox

by

“You know, summertime is approaching, and we need something to do; we can’t just play video games all day,” said Markie, then said, “The TV meteorologist said to expect searing heat, stay inside, and drink plenty of fluids.” “That’s true, but we’d be in air-conditioned comfort with the refrigerator in reach, filled with an assortment of cool treats,” said Benny. “I’m in with climate control and the cool treats waiting for us in the fridge,” said Joey.

“Look, Yapper seems interested,” said Markie. Yapper, the dog, on hearing ‘cool treats,’ raises his head and excitedly lets out two happy yaps in agreement.

Joey says, “Fellas, remember the hospitality Mrs. Beal showed us every summer. She provided us with fudgesickles, chilled bottles of root beer, and a cool lemon meringue pie. Maybe this year she’ll have a cool Key Lime pie as well. Yum!”

Benny recalls, “Since it was three of us, she set the table for three. Inside the refrigerator were three frozen fudgesickles, three slices of lemon meringue pie, and three chilled bottles of root beer. It would be nice to have a visit with her this summer.”

‘Mrs. Beal said when the heat is on, we are welcome to come inside to cool off and enjoy some cool pop and frozen treats,” said Markie.

Joey said, “I remember her saying, ‘Get a root beer out of the icebox.’ I didn’t understand icebox. She laughingly said she meant the refrigerator. Mrs.Beal explained that an icebox was an insulated box with a block of ice inside to keep food cold. That was in the days before the electric refrigerator.”

Joey recalls, “Mom said grandma had one too. She said the iceman would deliver a block of ice daily or every other day to households on the block. She described him as a very strong man toting a fifty to one hundred block of ice over his shoulder with sharp iron tongs designed to dig into the ice to secure it. Can you imagine?” Both Markie and Benny were astonished, with both saying “Wow!”

Markie said, “I can’t imagine not having electricity.” Benny said, “I can’t imagine not having an electric refrigerator.” Joey said, “I can’t imagine not having fudgesickles. Oh no!”

“No worries, Joey, we do have an electric refrigerator with a freezer to keep your fudgesickles solid,” said Benny.

Markie suggests, “We need to make a plan. One that will allow us some flexibility and structure our day.” “Okay, Markie, but keep it simple,” exclaimed Joey.

Benny is thinking out loud, “We could list three things we could do daily. Let’s see, food, play, and health. We like to eat, we like to play, and we like to ride our bikes.” “Sounds like a good plan to me,” said Markie. “I’m in, as long as we have ‘cool treats’ from the fridge,” said Joey. Benny said, “I like the idea of three, for some reason. Okay guys, we’ll start our plan in three days. We need to stick to our plan every day.”

Benny, reminiscing, said, ” Remember how Mom structured our summertime. She made it fun, but wanted us to do some interesting things.” “Yes, I do. Our day started with a yummy breakfast. Scrambled egg, cheese toast, and fruit,” said Markie. “Sometimes we would get a frozen dessert, ice cream, and occasionally fudgesickles,” said Joey as he took a look inside the fridge.

“Mom insisted that we exercise our brains. Mid-morning, we would visit the library. We were young, and this library thing was new to us. So we looked around and found children’s books,” said Markie.

Benny said, “The one that caught my interest was Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The cover featured an illustration of a little golden-haired girl walking through a forest, carrying a basket, her gaze drawn to a cottage along the way. I seated myself in a comfortable chair nearby, opened the book, and began to read the tale.”

Joey said, “I found the place boring, but I found a book about the ice cream truck, and it was a delicious read.”

“I really enjoyed reading, Lassie, Come Home. The loyalty of a dog touches my heart,” said Markie.

“You know, fellas, those were good times for us. We didn’t have to plan anything. Our summers were filled with meaningful times together,” said Joey.

“Mrs. Beal was always good to us. She planned everything for us. It was her delight to give to us. Yes, always thinking about the three of us,” said fondly by Markie.

“Three things come to mind. Three cool treats: three root beers, three slices of pie, three fudgesickles, and three bears, for some reason,” said Benny.

It’s important to appreciate the comforts of living we have today and to remember those who gave so much to us back then.

Copyright 2026 Frank Clark

Apples to Oranges

by

We are more than a figure of speech; we have substance, and we have appeal.

It’s been said that comparing apples to oranges is not possible because they have nothing in common. So you can’t compare them. It’s like comparing walnuts to zebras. No way can you compare the two because they are completely different.

As a phrase, ‘apples to oranges’ is a figure of speech, an idiom, that is used in reference to two other incomparable things.

So why not compare them anyway? The only thing they have in common is that they are fruit, so they say. But what else do they share? An apple is not an orange, and an orange is not an apple. That’s a known fact.

Are they alike, and how are they different?

First of all, we need to know what an apple and an orange are. What are the distinct characteristics of each?

An apple is tender, crisp, sweet, and mild in flavor. An orange is sweet-tart in flavor and high in vitamin C.

An apple is an edible fruit produced by an apple tree. An orange is an edible fruit produced by an orange tree.

The apple fruit is celebrated for its sensory appeal, nutritional density, and deep-rooted cultural symbolism.

The visual appeal of an orange lies in its vibrant, warm color, which is universally associated with energy, health, and sunshine.

Apple to Orange, “We have substance.” Orange to Apple, “Yes, we do. I have a thick skin, but juicy inside.” “I may be thin-skinned, but I have a crunchy, edible flesh inside, high in fiber, and vitamins too,” said Apple proudly.

“You know, Apple, come to think of it, we have appeal,” said Orange amusingly. “For being so different, we have visual appeal,” said Apple.

This appeal of an apple is characterized by a combination of vibrant, glossy skin and a range of appealing colors. Frequently, the red apple is depicted in, and symbolizes, themes of freshness, nutrition, and wellness

The appeal of the orange lies in its bright, vivid color, which is considered joyful, optimistic, and stimulating to the senses.

Although the apple and the orange share some similarities, they are not alike. They are in contrast to each other. The best comparison is in their differences.

They are fruits of choice and are usually displayed next to each other at a produce stand or in a supermarket case. Yes, their contrast in a produce case makes them very appealing.

Yes, apples and oranges are used in other figures of speech. Let’s allow Apple and Orange to boast about themselves.

Apple to Orange: “Many expressions include my name. For example, ‘you are the apple of my eye’ and ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away.’ Favorable impressions about me. What about you?”

Orange to Apple: “Some favorable sayings in reference to me. ‘The squeeze of the day,’ meaning get the most out of the day. ‘As bright as an orange’ means very bright or eye-catching. By the way, ‘orange is the happiest color,’ according to Frank Sinatra. Pretty impressive, if I might say so myself.

Copyright 2026 Frank Clark

Fish Market Drifter

by

If you don’t write your own story, somebody else will write it for you.

“Just be yourself.  No need for pretense.  Write your own story.  If they write your story, will it be about them or about you? Be yourself and your story will be about you,” said the fish market drifter.

“Who are you?  You seem to be a very wise man. How did you know that I wanted to write a story about me?” said the somewhat startled, surprised young man. “I know a lot about life. Been there, done that. I know a lot about writing, that’s what I do.  I’m a ghostwriter.” “Are you a ghost? What is a ghostwriter?” said the curious young man.

“A ghostwriter?  Let’s see. Someone not
visible, not known, writing a story for you. Why do you ask such a question, young man?” “I have a draft of a story I have written and I think it’s not very good. I don’t write very well. I need someone to polish it up. I want to make it a worthwhile read.  It needs to be inviting.  Like the neon sign behind you,” said the young writer.

“Your name, bright young man?” “I’m Mark, Mark Twain.” “Mark Twain? Do you know who you are?  Your style of writing was a new genre of literature.  A little rough around the edges, but your books were, and still are, some of the most read books to this day,” said the ghostwriter beneath the neon light.

“How do you know that about me?  I never knew it.  I want to write an engaging and provocative story.  One that makes people think. Imaginative and adventurous.  A ghostwriter, I hear, can bring a story to life.  A ghost never reveals himself. Remains anonymous. One told me on the phone that she could write me a story that will shine. As bright as that neon light behind you.  You see it?”

“Yes, I see it. It’s bright and sends a message that there is something of value in there. ‘We have crabs.’ They must be in demand here. You know this is a fish market?  People come here for the best and select seafood.  You already have that gift with your writing. Thought you ought to know,” said the gravely voiced old man. “I really do?  I already have what I need to write my story?” said young Mark, then said, “I’m only a diamond in the rough.” “That’s what makes your writing so special.”

“How do you know me?” “All ghostwriters know about you. They try to copy your style, but have never been able to do it.”  “Who are you and where do you come from?” “Maybe I’m someone from your past. Maybe you.”

Copyright 2026 Frank Clark



Mango Market

by

Mango Market on Isla del Sol.

Feel the breeze, the warmth of the sun.

Isla del Sol is an uninhabited island and is protected to keep it in its natural state. A very tropical feel to the island with its abundance of mangoes, fanned palmetto palms, and awesome wind-blown oaks. It is believed that the island was originally occupied by the Mango Tribe, who worked in the mango groves there. The island is also nicknamed Mango Island. Today, descendants of explorers live in a nearby village on the mainland. Isla del Sol is only accessible by canoe or raft. Visitors must paddle across a small inlet to the island, as did the island dwellers long ago. Abandoned and weathered canoes still rest upon its shore. The island is managed by a farm cooperative. Members who grow their own natural fruits and vegetables share them at a marketplace on the island twice weekly.

“Good morning, members. Another delightful day in our marketplace. I decided to add some color to make it look more festive and tropical. I have the usual six carts. They are now painted with a variety of pastels. I hope you like them. Thank you, Ernesto,” said Magdalena, manager of Mango Market. “Let’s see what you have, Diego.” “Mama, I have the finest coffee, tea, cocoa, and apple cider. The coffee today is 100% Colombian. I have English tea, the best Swiss chocolate, and fresh-squeezed apple cider. I have four decanters, one for each. Piping hot, ready to serve,” said Diego. “Load your items on this cart. It’s mocha brown. Place your cart at the end of the path on the left. The aromas will radiate throughout the market.” “I will, señora. And I have my earthen clay mugs and wooden spoons. Natural everything. Raw honey, fresh cream, and brown sugar cane,” said Diego.

“The breads, come ahead. Rosa, what a wheat wagon you have. Mmm, hot crusted French, Italian, and Cuban. Oh, the aromas will blend well with the coffee cart,” said Magdalena with delight and a smile. “Buenos días, Magdalena. Fresh from the oven. Spreads of butter, cream cheese, and apple butter. Clove and cinnamon sprinkles. These will awaken the senses,” said Rosa as she fans her hand across the baskets. “Take this cart. It’s painted with a pastel of clay yellow. Please, set up on the left, up front next to Diego’s mocha brown coffee cart. A nice contrast of color.” said Magdalena.

Feel the breeze, the warmth of the sun.

“Need fruit. Need fruits and juices. Come on up, Juan,” said Magdalena. “I got the fruits, señora, and I got the juice. Is tropical okay?” said Juan. “Of course, they look so luscious. The juice boxes are fine, as long as they are fresh squeezed,” said Magdalena. “I have papaya, guava, and ripened mangoes,” said Juan proudly. “I hope those are my mangoes. They don’t look like my mangoes. Are they organic and not supermarket?” said Magdalena with suspicion. “Not supermarket, but farmer’s market and I was told that they are organic. All natural,” said Juan. “Well, they’ll do, but please, do not tell anyone about them. They all come here for my mangoes, as you know, grown here on the island. Here, take the aqua marine cart. A nice contrast of color. On the left, right here, up front. Gracias, Juan,” said Magdalena.

“I need a hot food cart. Benito, I smell your tamale pies and burritos and sizzling sausage. Do you have sauce and cheese?” “Yes, I do, señora. And I have hot cheese sticks and nachos.” “I’ll be the first in line for your cheese sticks. I hope you have a blazing hot sauce for the nachos. Need mild too. Oh, your cart. Take this one, the pastel palmetto green. At the end, on the right, across from Diego’s coffee cart,” said Magdalena as she views the set up of the carts.

Feel the breeze, the warmth of the sun.

“Let’s see, the pastries. Ah, the smell of yeast, vanilla, chocolate, sugar and spice. I know you are here, please come forward,” said Magdalena with anticipation. “I have the cart already. Loaded and ready to go,” said Anna Maria. “Oh, my goodness, what a display. A bakery cart adds flavor to a marketplace. This is the perfect cart. Raspberry is the right color for you. Up this way, on the right, next to Benito’s hot food cart. Mmm, the blend of coffee, sizzling sausage, and pastries will compliment each other.”

“One last cart, a vegetable cart, please. Señora Alvarez, good morning. Your vegetables look so fresh. All organic, I hope,” said Magdalena. “Yes, indeed, señora. I have fresh golden corn in their husks, ripened cherry tomatoes, green and red peppers, red onions, and crisp lettuce,” said Señora Alvarez. “This cart is for you, brilliant orange. On the right, up front, here.”

Feel the breeze, the warmth of the sun.

Magdalena, with her arms crossed, looks at the marketplace on the yellow clay path, under the shade of the wind blown oaks. The sun is beaming through providing the light of day. She bends back breathing in the flavors of the market and she delights in the pastels of color she has created. “Everyone, this is the day, this is the place, this is the time for us to celebrate. Moments away before our first guests arrive. Are you ready? Do you all have mangoes?” “We are ready,” said by all the vendors in the marketplace. “And yes, Magdalena, we all have mangoes, plenty of them!” said Juan. All laugh.

“We are ready, then. I need two greeters at the entrance. Carlos and Alicia, can you assist me here? Remember to check their membership cards. All guests must be accompanied by a member. Must do a count. We only allow twenty five into the marketplace per hour. On each side of you, there are two tables of my fresh mangoes. Give one of each to our members and guests may have one, too. Oh yes, tell them about our sunrise market. It’s the day after tomorrow. Must be here at predawn before sunrise. I know it’s early, but that’s what it’s all about, the sunrise. It’s a two hour market open to only twenty five. That way, there will be room to casually roam, allow time and space to gather, and to enjoy the flavors of our food and drink.”

“Good morning, all. Welcome to Mango Market. A mango for you and a mango for you,” said Carlos wearing his straw hat with a colorful red band. “This way, please. Straight ahead. Enjoy your time in the market,” said Alicia wearing a long melon tunic belted at the waist with a yellow braided tie. On her feet are simple leather sandals.

Magdalena said to those entering the market, “Good morning, buenos días. Have a great time. We have everything for you. All fresh and natural.”

Just before noon when the market closes, Magdalena walks through the market talking with each vendor. “Everything good, Diego?” “Yes, used four decanters of each today.” “Benito, all your food is gone. Did you run out?” “Yes, Magdalena. I was raided,” laughingly said Benito.

“Rosa, you still have breads. What happened?” “Not too many bread lovers today. Everyone seemed to like the bagels which I don’t normally have much of a demand. And the cream cheese. Went like ice cream!”

“I know the pastries did well and I see they did, Anna Maria.” “Everyone wanted every one of them. The sweet breads were the most popular, conchas and, believe or not, the German chocolate cake.” “This is an island market, you would think,” said Magdalena. Anna Maria continue, “The frosted apple turnovers went like fresh apples picked from the tree.” “Did you save me a couple? You know what I like,” said Magdalena with a smile. “Yes, I did. The concha and the German chocolate cake.” Shh!” said Magdalena.

“All right, give me your score, Juan.” “I did well, all stopped here first because I’m at the front of the market. The most popular fruit was the Georgia peach. The most favored juice was pineapple,” said hesitantly by Juan. “What do you mean, no mangoes sold? How did the Georgia peach get in here? And the pineapple juice? This is not Hawaii!” said Magdalena, a little distressed. Juan to Magdalena, “They were requested, and I had a few under the counter. Yes, I got them at the farmer’s market, too.” “Aye Yai Yai! Next time, all mangoes, my mangoes!” said Magdalena, shaking her finger with a smile.

“Mrs. Alvarez, I know you came through for me, you always do. Vegetables. Everyone needs vegetables. How did you do?” said Magdalena hoping for a home run. “I sold a few tomatoes, and the husks of corn are always popular, but the rest are still here. I’m sorry no home run,” said Señora Alvarez, then said “I sold mangoes, many of them. Fresh from your grove.” “That really delights me, you did make a home run! You win the prize,” said Magdalena. “Prize, I get a prize?” said Señora Alvarez. “Yes, you sold mangoes. Above the rest! Here’s a bag of mangoes to go,” said Magdalena with a grin and a wink.

“Thank you folks for coming, the market closes in five minutes. Remember the sunrise market in two days. Only twenty five are allowed and must be here before the break of dawn. Reservations are required,” said Magdalena as she directs Carlos to close the gate.

Feel the breeze, the warmth of the sun.

Copyright 2026 Frank Clark

Three Kings & A Princess

by

We used to live near a church that sponsored a live nativity scene every year. It was something we enjoyed, and we made it a Christmas family tradition every year.

The manger scene contained an “all-live” cast, ranging from angels to wise men and shepherds to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. The live nativity scene also included many of the animals you would find in or near a barn–a cow, a donkey, sheep, a lamb, and a goat. We were so touched by the peaceful relationship between man and beast we decided to bring our little dog with us one year. Suzette was her name.

Suzette was a sensitive little dog and a special part of our family. On arrival at the scene and sensing the joy and excitement of the moment, Suzette found it necessary to run to the powder room in this most natural of settings. She quickly took care of her business, then approached the manger scene with much curiosity.

Being a sensitive little dog, Suzette was able to assess with her nose, and at a glance, that Baby Jesus didn’t have it quite as good as she did. She noticed that Jesus lay resting in a crib of hay out in the open air. She remembered resting comfortably in a soft foam bed underneath a sturdy kitchen table within a climate-controlled habitat. Suzette, puzzled by this inequity, decided that some action on her part was needed to correct this perceived misfortune.

I know she thought, if I could only get close enough to give Baby Jesus a big slurp on his soft, rosy cheek, then all would be better for him. I’ve got to find a way.

As Suzette tried to maneuver her way to the manger, she was stopped by a very arrogant goat who said, “Stop, you peasant dog. Get behind the manger line! Only kindly animals are allowed to be a part of this prince’s court.”

Suzette retorted, “But I am a kindly canine, and I know how to behave around royalty.” She went on to say, “It’s part of Pekingese heritage to protect, honor, and serve those of such royal stature. It is my duty, as a princess, to come adore our new born king.”

The goat said, “You don’t look like royalty to me, and besides, if you were, you wouldn’t be allowed because beastly dogs are not permitted in this royal court.” Suzette nervously said, “What can I do, Mr. Goat, to prove to you that I am worthy to participate in this royal pageant?”

“Oh, stop the formalities. My name is Billy Goat. I’m the director of this slip-shod operation. Been doing this for the last five years. Sure, it’s hard to find kindly animals. And the ones I got, oh! Running late, failing to punch the clock, and taking too many bathroom breaks. I had to get rid of the chickens because of too much pecking. Enough of my bleating. Back to you, kid, I mean, beastly dog.”

Billy Goat continued, “You said something about being worthy? Well, none of us is worthy! It’s a matter of qualifying. You see, this is an animal nativity scene that goes on seven nights a week, through Christmas Eve. I need someone reliable. No nights off, no dinner breaks, and only one five-minute bathroom break per hour. Unless we get a no-show or a cancellation, there’s just no room for you on the set. Otherwise, it will take an act of God to get you in.”

Suzette, feeling somewhat resigned, said, “Can’t you pull some strings to get me in? I’ve got to get to Baby Jesus. I have a special gift for him.”

Billy replied, “Oh, stop wagging that tail! I’ll tell you what I’ll do, kid. Show up here every night at seven forty-five sharp. That’s fifteen minutes before curtain call. If I have an opening, I’ll try to work you in, kid. No promises. I’ll do what I can. Remember, you can’t be a dog in this pageant. You need to be ready to moo like a cow, baa like a sheep, hee-haw like a donkey, and if needed, God forbid, bleat like a goat. Nothing else will be acceptable. Otherwise, it will take an act of God to get you in.”

Suzette, with a glimmer of hope in her dark brown eyes, promised that she would be faithful in being there every night, prepared to substitute in a kindly animal role. That night, at home, she prayed that she would be given a sign, any sign, that it was proper for her to approach the Christ Child. With that thought, she fell peacefully asleep into pleasant doggie dreams.

It was Christmas Eve, the twelfth night of the nativity pageant. The weather was favorable, and the night was still. Suzette was prompt and ready to act, just like she had for the past eleven nights. Still a no for her on the Nativity set. But Suzette was hopeful and waiting to hear a stage call for her at any moment.

Suzette noticed that Moo Cow and Baa Sheep were a little under the weather. They sounded a little nasal, but they were there. She also knew that Nanny Goat had developed a cold and might not be able to perform. But she also knew this was the holiest of nights.

It was the night when the royal envoys from the East would arrive, led by the Christmas star. She was hoping and praying that she would be let in on the set. She was so excited that her little heart nearly pounded right out of her chest.

Seven forty-five was approaching, and director Billy Goat began his roll call of the cast. “Okay, everyone, please acknowledge your presence when I call your name.

“Moo Cow?” “Moo!” “Baa Sheep?” “Baa!” Nanny Goat?” “Naan!” “Hee Haw Donkey?” “Hee Haw!”

All were present, and the pageant began. All the kindly animals proceeded, one by one, into the manger set. They were followed by Joseph, with Mary carrying the infant Jesus wrapped securely in a blanket.

As Mary placed Jesus into the crib, a warm, glowing light surrounded the child, as he rested peacefully and comfortably in his bed.

A fleet of angels, floating mid-air, arrived dressed in robes that glistened like snow. As they hovered, each with folded hands, bowed in adoration before the holy child.

Next came the archangel Gabriel, carrying the Christmas star that would guide the shepherds and the special envoys from the East. The shepherds from the fields came first to pay their homage. Then came the royal guests from the East, each bearing a special gift and greeting to the Christ Child.

Suddenly, a light shone out over the crowd and beamed into the face of Suzette. She knew, then, this was the sign for which she had hoped, the light to guide her to the baby, Jesus.

She slowly and reverently approached the Christ Child and bowed down with paws stretched out, waiting anxiously and hopefully for the baby to acknowledge her presence. The baby smiled as she rose up with her paws on the side of the crib. He touched her nose, and she then, from the warmth she felt inside, knew that she was touched by God himself. She gazed at the baby in utter amazement, and so did the other kindly animals and kindly people, too.

Suzette knew this was her chance to do what she had come there to do. She moved forward with paws upside the crib. She looked at the baby, gave a quick slurp, and off she ran in glee. Suzette beamed from ear to ear. She knew she had just slurped the newborn King.

Copyright 2025 Frank Clark

And The Rockers Rocked

by

333 Elm Street 

Four rockers on the porch have been there for years. They never rock, even in a gust of wind. No movement, remain still. The house appears vacant, as if nothing’s there. But is that so?     

It’s quite curious that the four rockers on the porch remain still. Even when the wind blows strongly, they exhibit no motion. One might ponder the reason behind their unmoving state. Perhaps there’s a unique reason for their lack of movement. Their stillness certainly sparks intrigue.

It has been reported by kin and neighbors nearby that, when walking past the house on a late afternoon stroll, you could hear the sound of creaks, as if the rockers were rocking, but the rockers remained still. There’s no proof of these occurrences. The auditory sensation of rocking without any visible movement of the rockers can be quite perplexing. Such occurrences can be unnerving and quite haunting. 

Understanding the source of these sounds, even when the rockers are still, adds to the intrigue. It is a curious detail that can spark much thought and interest. But maybe the legend is really about the house itself. The rockers could be only a symptom of what is ailing the house.

An empty house yearns for the life and activity that inhabitants bring. This house was once a home filled with life and purpose. Now it has none. A house with no dwellers goes into disrepair and becomes derelict. The welcome placard on the door is an invitation for anyone to enter, anyone to give it life again. Should anyone dare enter? 

Elder neighbors and kin would tell haunting tales about the house. One consistent story was about its former dwellers, Rupert and Emma Whippoorwill. Much has been said about them. They were a sorta odd couple. They were once active and lively. Rupert and Emma were avid birdwatchers, but their fancy was birdcalling. They enjoyed mimicking the sound of birds. Actually, it’s how they conversed. 

Rupert “whip-poor-WILL.”                      Emma  “whip-poor-WILL.”

Rupert “Zee Zee Zoo Zoo.”                      Emma  “Zee Zee Zoo Zoo.”

Rupert “hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo.”                    Emma  “hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo.”                

Rupert “witchity-witchity-witchity.”            Emma  “witchity-witchity-witchity.”

Rupert “Caw-Caw, Caw-Caw.”                  Emma “Caw-Caw, Caw-Caw.”           

In the late afternoons, Rupert and Emma would leisurely relax in the rockers on the front porch, and lounging in the other two rockers were their two beloved pets, Twinkles the cat and Truffles the dog. All four rockers were rocking and all was well and good. 

Occasionally Rupert and Emma would entertain children in the neighborhood with their bird calls. The youngsters were just fascinated by the authentic sound of each bird. They even tried to mimic the bird calls themselves. Even Twinkles and Truffles would make their own sounds.

Twinkles would sound “Meow, Meow.”  Truffles would respond “Ruff, Ruff.” 

After a while, the bird sounds became so obnoxious that all decided to call it a night.   

Another oddity about the Whippoorwills is that they never invited anyone inside their home. Even though there’s a welcome sign on the front door, no one has ever entered the house. Could it be that the couple just wanted to maintain their private space or could it be for some other reason? Could it be something about the house itself?

Many have felt drawn to the house. It has some sort of magnetism that just pulls you to its door, but no one knows why.  It’s been rumored that once you are drawn inside the house, you cannot get out. You are trapped and will never get out and will be tormented by bird calls forever. 

One late evening a thunderstorm moved in with howling and forceful winds. Trees were swaying furiously back and forth.  Lightning strikes were all over. Wind chimes rang rapidly, but the rockers on the porch remained still and unaffected by the force of the wind. 

Suddenly the interior lighting of the house dimmed and finally went out from a strike of lightning. The only movement inside were ghostly figures of a man and a woman and of a cat and a dog. The only sounds heard were faint and frail. Murmurs from within withered whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will. 

And yes, the empty rockers will rock only when the house allows them to rock. Remember this house is desperate for life again and will do anything in its power to hold you there. 

“whip-poor-WILL,” ” whip-poor-WILL.”

Copyright 2025 Frank Clark