Live Out Your Story

Author: DWRigsby (page 2 of 5)

A New World – Tokus Numas

Creating a new world takes a tremendous amount of time, thought, and energy of which seems I have less and less each year that passes.

I’ve written nearly 400 pages of Tokus Numas only to find I need to write more – more detail, more character development, more emotion. Yes, this is the work the writer does – focusing on what brings the story to life. But in doing so, this life building takes time and does not happen over night. At times I have an epiphany but often I find it’s only a sliver of what I first thought it to be.

It’s like digging for gems in a mountain of dirt. You have bits and pieces in there that are of value but you also find large chunks too. In the end it’s the same really: the big, the small. They all hold value and when it turns from gems into an array of fine jewelry then you’ve done something to truly create the beauty you sought.


D.W. Rigsby


Do you ever wonder what would happen if people would just stop for a moment, think about what they are about to say, and give consideration before saying it?  We all make mistakes no doubt, and some of us just haven’t developed the communications skills to state something in a more considerate manner. I know I am guilty of it, and I hope anyone who’s felt that I was being inconsiderate at a given point in time will forgive me now.

I think there are times when consideration just doesn’t fit, like when  you are in a heated debate with someone over who’s going to be the next president of the United States. No, not really – we can be considerate here too.  But there will be times when it won’t fit, but for the most part I think we can all work to fit it in most times.

Being direct is a good form of communications but can easily slip into being inconsiderate of the other person you are speaking to.  For those who are direct – try and think of a different way to say the same thing, that might lesson the harsh words you generally prefer to use. Example – “you’re an idiot.”  One could say this instead, ” I think you should read the directions before you begin.” Or  “I think you might have overlooked what you were trying to express, so maybe you should think about changing your tactic.”

There are other ways of saying something that can come off as condescending but I’m not suggesting we go there  but it is easy to do.


Direct form – “Your an idiot.” Condescending: “I think you might want to go back to K-12, and retake your finals, after say 14 years of classroom development.”  Or this one ” Did you ever learn to read? Was it hard?” And there are still many, many ways to slice and dice a good sentence to make someone feel like a total piece of garbage.

So, I’m just thinking out loud again. I learned to be considerate from my mom, who no doubt learned it from her mom. She passed it to me, and I’m trying desperately to pass it to my sons. Though at home  – I do tend to throw a few zingers here and there, mostly in jest but I need to watch it.

Also, one more thing – we are talking about consideration for others and so consider this.  If someone tells you that your work, your life, or whatever it is you are doing is worthless. First don’t listen to them. Folks who communicate this way are only out to do one thing and that is to tear you down. Second – I want you to be considerate to yourself and not respond to them in an inconsiderate manner.


D.W. Rigsby

Merry Christmas

The Gift


HI Everyone,

I wanted to say Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  It seems that saying Merry Christmas is a sensitive thing these days. I am not sure why, when I hear so many other words,  and phrases being thrown around on television, out in public, and just about everywhere one goes that are much more offensive to many. Not that I am overly sensitive to these things.

So, I say this – to those who are celebrating Christmas remember why and for those who do not know anything about Christmas go and find out why.  It is a great time for many, a time to celebrate a great historic event in human history. This one event changed the face of the earth and has had far reaching effects that has lasted for thousands of years.  So, if you are one who is sensitive about someone saying Merry Christmas, don’t take it as they are throwing it in your face, take it that you’ve just been invited to the world’s biggest birthday party!  Yeah!!!

Merry Christmas,

D.W. Rigsby


Image Credit: Waiting For The World  by NOTTI-GHERARDO_02

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

What I Want Most for Christmas

Christmas Boots

What I Want Most for Christmas


D.W. Rigsby



The window shops in the mall displayed Christmas decorations, new toys, clothes, and gifts. Linda, in her late twenties, with dark hair and pale skin, walked the hall with her little girl holding her hand. Betsy turned five years of age just two months ago. She had lighter hair, same pale skin, and she wore a pretty little white dress with ruffles, and a red belt with a red ribbon in the center.

“So, do you know what you’re going ask Santa for?” Linda asked.

“What can I ask for Christmas, Mommy?” Betsy asked sniffing the sweet scent of waffle cones, cookies, and hot cocoa that pervaded the mall food court.

“I don’t know, honey, but if you ask, he’ll bring you something you want,” Linda said turning to face her little girl with a smile.

“Anything I want, Mommy?” asked Betsy, her eyes shining.

Linda’s smile faded to a more neutral look. “Well, not anything, but something.”

Betsy mimicked her mother’s facial gesture. “I thought Santa could bring anything he wanted.”

Linda moved slightly to avoid a large family passing by to the right, carrying large bags of gifts. Betsy eyed one that had a teddy bear sticking up out of the top.

“Not always.” Linda cringed and bit her lip, hoping to have settled the matter.

“Why’s that, Mommy?” asked Betsy as the gleam in her eye returned.

Linda worked to come up with something, but nothing was really coming to mind. “Oh, I don’t know why. It’s just that way.” She struggled to find a better answer, but still nothing came. “But don’t worry too much about it. Just tell me what you want and I’ll make sure Santa gets the message” She hoped she could afford it.

“I want to tell him myself,” said Betsy in her cutest little high pitched voice.

Linda stared off into the distance taking notices of kids playing at the playground in the center of the mall as she thought about what to do next.

Nearby the playground, she saw ole Saint Nick. Just the guy to help out, or could he?

Standing there in line were several kids waiting, but before Linda could walk them both over to the back of the line, little Betsy broke free from her grasp and ran toward Santa. She jumped up into his lap eager to see him.

“Betsy!” Linda called out. “I’m so sorry,” she said, facing the other red faced parents who were waiting patiently in line for their kid’s chance to talk to Saint Nick.

“Hi Santa.” Dimples formed in Betsy’s cheeks while she showed him her pearly whites.

Linda caught up to them. “Come down, Betsy, you got to wait your turn.”

Saint Nick looked at her. “It’s okay. Happens sometimes. It will only take a moment.” He used his hand to gesture to Linda to back away and wait. Then he waved at the other folks. “Ho, ho, ho.”

The other parents didn’t say a word, but their kids stirred a bit. Linda looked up shyly at the group, then back down to the floor.

“Well, hi there darling. Have you been a good girl?” asked Santa.

Betsy thought about it …. “Yeah, of course. Why?” She seemed earnestly perplexed.

“Cause you don’t want to be on Santa’s naughty list…” He stroked his beard.

“Oh, I’m not on the naughty list, am I?” She looked hesitantly at the old man’s face, those wrinkles around the eyes, the red tinted cheeks, lips and nose. And all those white whiskers sprouting from his face.

“I’m sure you aren’t.” He chuckled. “So tell me what is it that Santa can get you this year?” He broke into an inviting smile.

She pulled his head close to her and whispered into his ear. He smiled real big.

“I guess that can be arranged.” He then laughed and his belly giggled slightly. He lifted her up and put her down on the ground to where she was standing next to him.

Linda moved up toward her daughter, keeping her eyes away from the now most likely beet-red faces of parents and children uttering curt remarks.

“Betsy.” Linda caught her daughter by the arm and pulled her away quickly. She didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling of eyes looking at them both.

“What did you ask Santa for?”

“I can’t tell you, Mommy, then I’ll be on Santa’s naughty list and I won’t get what I want.”

Linda could not peel away from her little girl’s pouty face, though a thin line formed across her mouth.

“Well, you can tell me, don’t worry.  You won’t be on the naughty list.”

The little girl jerked her arm from her mom’s hand and stopped. “I can’t mommy, I can’t!” she said with a dazed look about her.

Linda knelt down on one knee and put her hands on her baby girl’s shoulders. “It’s all right, baby, cause mommy won’t tell Santa you told me.” Her eyes followed Betsy’s eyes to the side where ole Saint Nick strolled on by.

“He’s watching us. I can’t tell you, not here.”




A week later, and it was Christmas Eve, and Linda still didn’t know what Betsy asked from Santa.

The fresh scent of pine filled the room. Their tree was nicely decorated with a few presents underneath. Linda had more to put out later. The two of them sat curled up on the couch in the living room watching A Christmas Story, the volume down low. Linda looked over onto the mantle of the fireplace to see her husband’s picture, his last one from years before when he left for the war and never came home.

“It’s Christmas Eve, you know … did you want to open a present?” Linda said, trying to put the past behind her.

“No, I’m waiting until the morning to get what I want.” Betsy took a drink of her hot cocoa.

“But you never told me what you wanted, sweetie.” Linda hoped it was something that would be under the tree after her little girl went to sleep. She pulled Betsy in closer, wrapping her arm around her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “Santa doesn’t get mad about what we tell each other.”

Betsy sighed and looked away, then back into her mom’s eyes. “Okay, Mommy. I asked Santa if daddy could come home for Christmas.”

Pain stabbed deep into her gut. She pulled her little girl in tight and hugged her, squishing her against her side. Betsy nearly spilled her hot cocoa.

“What’s wrong, Mommy … Am I on the naughty list?”

She let go so her little girl could come into view. “No, baby, you aren’t on the naughty list, but what you asked for … Santa can’t do.”  Tears welled up in Linda’s eyes.

The little girl’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?  Santa can do anything, can’t he?” Betsy backed away.

The distance, only a foot or so, made it feel like a chasm had appeared.

Linda steadied herself. “No, baby, he can’t, he’s not able to do everything. Just little things, like small gifts for boys and girls who are good, that’s all.”

Betsy pushed away, placing her hot cocoa on the end table before storming across the living room, passing the Christmas tree, and stomping up the stairs to her bedroom.

Linda’s shoulders slumped, hearing the muffled cries from above. She gathered herself and dragged her feet over the floor, making her way to the television, turned it up, then went back to the couch and stared into the white glow.

Later when the house was quiet, she tucked the last few gifts under the tree, and then sat on the couch, thinking into the late night, until her eyes were too heavy to keep open.




Sometime in the night a sound woke her. Wiping the drool off her face, Linda sat up in the couch and rubbed her eyes with the balls of her palms and looked at the tree. There a man in red stood, dressed in a burly fur coat trimmed in white, his belly sticking out too far, his legs large like stumps, and his white beard traveling halfway down his chest. She couldn’t believe her eyes … Santa was real?

As she went to get up, she felt dizzy, and caught herself by grabbing the arm of the couch to sit back down. When she looked again – the man in red was gone.

It was just a dream, a very strange dream, she thought. Craig used to play Santa. She looked over to her husband’s picture just as she slumped into the couch and began to cry herself to sleep.




“Mommy, mommy!”

She heard the sweet voice of her child and felt a tug on her sleeve.

“Mommy, Mommy, come see, quick, Mommy!”

She looked over to see the presents under the tree, and then scanned them to see if any there could not be readily identified. Linda counted them quietly to herself and came up with the right amount, the amount she left under the tree herself before her strange dream.

She leaned forward and put the best smile she had on while her little girl picked presents to open. She knew when Betsy got to the last one she’d have to explain why her present she asked Santa for never showed.

Wrappers were spread across the floor, torn, crumpled, and piled high with spaces of air between. Opening, playing, showing and hugging until the last present was seen. It was a little box wrapped in newspaper. Linda had run out of the nice wrapping paper, so she grabbed the newspaper from last week.

Betsy tore into the gift.


The shrill voice nearly put Linda’s heart out of commission. She placed her hand over chest just to be sure it was still there.

“Betsy, don’t do that. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Mommy, I told you. Look. Santa is real. It’s daddy!”

Linda got up and strolled over, looking confused at the opened box, knowing that inside it was only a plastic rhinestone tiara she bought for the dolls Betsy got this morning. But Betsy wasn’t looking in the box. She was holding the newspaper at her.

Ding Dong… the doorbell chimed.

Linda looked from her daughter sitting on the floor to the door.

“I told you, Mommy. Look! It’s a picture of Daddy.” She pointed at the newspaper wrapping.

Linda snapped. “Stop it, Betsy. Daddy’s not coming home. I’m sorry. He went away to protect us, to protect our country, and he was lost. I’m sorry.”

The doorbell rang again.

Tears swirled in her eyes, blurred her vision as she walked toward the door. “Who is ringing my doorbell on Christmas?” she muttered to herself.

She heard sniffles and looked back to Betsy.  “I’m sorry, baby. Mommy didn’t mean to say that.” She hesitated. “I didn’t mean to say it that way. Give me a moment and we’ll talk about it. There’s someone at the door.”

She picked up her pace as the doorbell rang again. Her hand on the knob, she opened it a crack and peered out.

“Yes?” Tears still blocked her vision.

“Hi Sweetie.” She heard the voice. Then she heard loud bounding footsteps as Betsy came running to the door.

It took her a moment—it had been so long. The man in front of her was thinner, his face stretched tight over the bone, but the uniform looked crisp and new. And that voice, it sounded oddly familiar but strained somehow.

“Mommy, open the door. It’s Daddy.”

Linda felt uneven, about to fall when the man rushed into the house and caught her. He felt strong, boney, and smelled of mahogany.  The same shampoo her husband used before he left.

“Daddy! I knew it was you, Daddy!” Then Betsy went silent.


Linda gathered herself once more, looked over to Betsy to see her face was pink and tear drops were streaming down her cheeks.

“Betsy.” Linda, still in the man’s arms, held out a hand for their daughter.

Betsy sprang into their open arms. They both wrapped their arms about Betsy and held her tight as all three cried tears of joy.


Story by D.W. Rigsby

Image Credit: Happy Christmas To All Boots (and family of Boots too) by Randy Robertson

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

Does God Exist?

Does God Exist


It’s a question many have pondered. I too have dwelled on this very thought.  I can say that in my story The Broken Christmas Tree, God is very much present in Danny’s life.   My protagonist may not always acknowledge this presence, but he seems to notice the divine to some degree. He’s made aware through various ways, but not always in ways we’d think about such getting what you want all the time because you believe in God.  He acknowledges God on his own level of thinking, and understands that there is a dark force just as much as there is a force of light.

If you’ve ever read the beginning of the Bible it talks about how Adam and Eve came into knowing of good and evil just as God does.  This statement is intriguing to me. We, as a people, have the same knowledge as God does about these two opposite forces in our universe.  So why is that important?  What makes knowing both good and evil such a trade secret anyway?  If we never understood the difference, I suppose you could surmise that we’d be blissful in our lives. Being ignorant to what we do wrong or what we do right. There would be no wrong or right, it would just be. Whatever action taken would just be an action – and no other thought would weigh in if this was evil or if this was good. It just would not enter the mind.

I am not here to convince anyone on how to think, but only to share how I am thinking.  So, Danny is in a struggle, has problems at home, doesn’t know how to interact with God, so at times he may rely on himself more than he ought.  In this world he learns that self-reliance is a good thing, and needed, but he also learns he can’t do it alone. All battles cannot be won by his own resourcefulness.  It’s a world to live in and to learn, to experience a God he knows little about, and to understand the true meaning behind Christmas.



D.W. Rigsby


Image Credit: God is here? by f/orme Pet Photography

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

Keeping Hope Alive



As I sit here, I ponder the recent release of my book The Broken Christmas Tree.   I am somewhat fixated on how it is going. And I am tormented at the same time when I don’t see it going so well.  But it’s not real.

Real? What does this word mean?

Real means actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact; not imagined or supposed.

All the facts aren’t visible and that is why I am struggling but it’s not completely true. There are some facts available to me.  Several people have commented directly to me about how much my book meant to them. I’ve had family members tell me how much they are enjoying this book. Others have commented on how well I’ve written this book.  I’ve had even others tell me how much they’ve enjoyed this book and commented to me how it’s touched their heart.

So what is real?  Real is based on facts. What I’m experiencing at times cannot be real as it’s not completely based on fact. If I base what is happening on actual facts – well then, I would need to conclude The Broken Christmas Tree is doing quite well.

But there is more to this story isn’t there?  The one thing I failed to mention is my success criteria.  What am I basing my success on or what am I measuring it against?  Of course I’ll tell you that my main goal is exposure – to reach as many people as I can with this book. But I somehow dismiss the other facts and purely go on this one fact that my book has not reached as many as I’d hoped for yet.

The other element in the picture is time.  Time is at work and sometimes it takes readers years to find an author.

I am basing my feelings on facts that have not yet come to light.  The fact is there just hasn’t been enough time.  I released The Broken Christmas Tree nearly a month ago.  My expectations are clearly too high.   Therefore  I must focus on the facts I have – and those for the time being are positive.  Not only have I heard people are enjoying my book, that many are still planning to purchase it, and some even would like my autograph- I am blushing now.

We all do this – don’t we?  We set expectations too high and when those expectations aren’t met we dismiss all other facts and consider ourselves a failure.

Take a step back, as I will do.  Look at what is happening.  Keep the lens in focus for there is movement, it just might not be what you want right now.  Keep hope alive – believe and keep going.  This is where many find themselves, in this darkened place we call anxiety or worry. This is where we tend to dwell.  Don’t stay here. Get out of the shadows, and into the light.  See yourself as you truly are and keep hope alive.

I share this with you because it’s on my heart to do so. I share this with you because you are not alone. I share this with you because I am walking out of the shadow, and into the light, and hope is still alive in me.



D.W. Rigsby


Image Credit: Hope by Shane Gorski

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

October 22, 2014 – Letter To Danny



As your story started, so shall it end.

Here on the blank pages your story was told, written for all to see Danny. Can you imagine what I’m talking about?  Can you see the future from where you are?  I hope so Danny. Even as I sit here and type, I can see the future from where I am – where my life is captured digitally as a journal is captured with ink and paper. My life stored for ages to come as your life is stored.

Those in the future will be able to pull my information, peer into my universe long after I’m gone, and they’ll be able to see who I was and how I lived. Families will have living albums that will run for generations, hundreds, thousands of years of a family life captured.

Your lineage will be preserved, your knowledge, your passions, your ideas all captured, and passed down like an heirloom for the next generation to add to the collage of life. It’s truly remarkable.

Music, books, work, skills, photos, videos, experiences, and on and on Danny. Like nothing you ever seen before. It’s within our grasp yet we do not understand what this means yet for our future.  But would you Danny?  Could you have understood what the future held for you?

It’s wonderful – so many have begun to peer into your world. They are seeing your struggles and they have much to say Danny. I decided to create a page – it’s a sort of like a piece of paper you hold in your hand but it’s stored inside a computer.  People can see it from their own computers through a connected network, viewing your world from afar.  Here I am putting up this paper for people to post what they thought about you, your life, your story Danny, and your friend Cluster.  And I’ll see what I can do to relay some of it back to you. Hang in there, we’ve only just begun.


D.W. Rigsby

Letter to Danny from The Broken Christmas Tree

Image Credit: Open Book, Blank by Doug Aghassi

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

October 15, 2014 – Letter To Danny



I’ve found a way for others to see your world finally. It is amazing. You won’t believe what we can do in 2014 with information. I’m about to submit this thing we call a link – hard to explain – but it’s a sort of pathway through connected cables where a computer is located for people to see your world.  Imagine a page in front you on your desk, and imagine that others can see your page just as you see it. We also have small mobile devices, like that on Star Trek, to talk to each other across the globe but we can also retrieve information such as that page on your desk and read it.

Yes, very much different than in your time and I know maybe difficult for you to grasp. But today, hundreds, thousands, even millions of people will have a way to see your life, what you are going through, and what you are up against.

You will not be alone – everyone who picks up this link – will be connected to you like nothing you’ve ever seen before and it’s about to happen.  It has happened!

Be ready, you might feel a jolt – maybe a shaking in the ground, or an intense burst of wind passing through your town. Whatever you experience – just be prepared as so many are going to go through what you are going through. You will not be alone anymore Danny.  Keep your chin up, have hope, and know that we are behind you all the way!


D.W. Rigsby

Letter to Danny from The Broken Christmas Tree

Image Credit: Interconnected by Steve Johnson

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

The Human Spirit

Spirit Light

It’s remarkable how the human spirit will press forward even when the odds are against it.

As an indie writer  I’m reading lots of blogs, posts, finding new writers all the time and they are all doing the same thing. They are trying to break out and become known even though the odds are against them, I mean us.

I did some math on the recent release of my first book “The Broken Christmas Tree“. Yes it’s early, but I didn’t want to wait until after Halloween to get it out there for folks to begin to sample or read my book. I’m excited, and hesitate but at the moment I’m getting some really good feedback on it. I figured at least 583 people have seen the release of my book in one form or another through Twitter, Facebook, and Linkedin.

Though each day I wake up and I think to myself – how can I reach more people? Well, there is advertising but from what I’ve been reading paid advertising is a hit or miss, more a miss.  Are you timing the market right?  Are you targeting to the right audience?  Is your cover eye catching?  Is your tagline also equally catching?

Does my book appeal to anyone? I find myself thinking. I know it does – at least my family and friends.  So here is a call for help – if you are reading this I’m asking for your help. Share your experience with others if you read The Broken Christmas Tree, share with your friends that it’s out there as someone else might enjoy it.  I’m trying to appeal to those who are following me – because I can’t do it alone. I wish I could but I can’t. Nothing really happens without others being involved.  I mean, yes things do happen, but not on a large scale such as getting the word out on a book, product, or event.

I wonder if I’m wrong for asking. I figure it’s better to ask then not to ask at all. So, I’m asking all of you who read this post. Share with others, help to get the word out.  Let others figure out if  they want to read this book or not, there are sample pages so don’t worry if you are afraid to recommend this book and it turns out to be a stinker.  Your friends can figure that out before they buy it. 🙂

I’ve gotten some great reviews to date, not many but the ones that have come in are strong. This is a good sign to me.  I’m not going to stop believing in the power of the human spirit.  It’s really what makes us all who we are, gives us fuel and carries us along.  Each day I’ll wake, I’ll think to myself I can reach more people and I’ll find a way to do it, but I equally know I can’t do it alone.

The Broken Christmas Tree


D.W. Rigsby


Image Credit: rays of light by glasseyes view

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

October 8, 2014 – Letter To Danny



Oh, I’m so tried my eyes can barely hold themselves open any longer. I think I need some time to rest, to get away from it all, just for a little while.

I wanted to try and describe your town to you. Using some of the information you’ve sent me. So bare with me on this bit of writing here.

New Weston is surrounded by hills that interconnect with one another to form a vast expanse of the foothills of the Northern Appalachians. The hills here represent the timelessness between man and nature, how the two are intertwined like rope strands. The people live on one strand, while nature lives on another, their lives twisting together, connecting at some points while never touching at others.

The hills continue upward hundreds of feet to the peak and are covered with maple, ash, walnut, oak, and more buckeye trees. They’re all bunched up together to create a beautiful canopy of green in the spring and summer, and lush yellows, reds, browns, and oranges in the fall. Barren branches outstretch to overlap one another in the winter.

The buckeye tree is a symbol of the area, one that has a long history and lore surrounding it.

A single buckeye is about the size of a walnut, though looks nothing like one. The buckeyes are encased in a flexible yet durable sack that’s rough on the outside and smooth on the inside. They grow in groups of three or four, and when the leaves turn brown, the buckeyes fall to the ground and make sounds like small explosions that echo off the encircling hills when the sacks pop open to release their contents. To hear them fall it sounds like a firefight where the battle wages on until the last of the buckeyes stop falling

There are times when the clouds are high above and beams of sunlight pass through as spotted rays of gold; other times the clouds hang low just above the peaks and create a glorious white halo. Then there are times in the mornings when the clouds sit in the valley below to create a dense fog that one must pass through while traveling on the road.

In the morning it’s still, silent, like a crystal-clear lake where nothing stirs. At sunrise the cock crows and wakes the neighborhood. The hound dogs cry for their breakfast and for a chance to go on a hunt.

In the afternoon Blackberry Street is busy with people walking up and down it. Cars rumble by one at a time, as the road isn’t wide enough for two to pass side by side. The road itself is barely together, covered in a layer of broken asphalt with potholes patched with loose gravel.

Houses line the road. The side where Danny lives is a hill that runs parallel to Blackberry Street. It jets up high above the shrunken houses. These houses were built nearly a hundred years ago; most of the homes have held up, but time has taken its toll on the now-tilted foundations of many others. Some yards are kept up, but most are not. There are toys, tools, even garbage scattered about, often sprawling over into neighboring yards. This street is unlike many of the newer developments in the valley. Most of those homes are larger and kept up to present a fine appearance.

Blackberry Street starts at the bottom, flat, where it connects to Bowman Street. From there it inclines sharply for a hundred yards and continues up past Danny’s home, where it curves to the left at the bend in the road. Take the road another hundred yards, and that’s where Cluster lives on an open, large lot of land that spans his entire hill, which is perpendicular to Danny’s hill and meets at the center where Buckeye Hollow forms.

Legend says the buckeye brings good luck. And when you get a chance. Send me a buckeye!


D.W. Rigsby

Letter to Danny from The Broken Christmas Tree

Image Credit: buckeyes by laura_kelley

Copyright ©2014 DW Rigsby All Rights Reserved.

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