Smokestack

No grave markers exist. Nor any small stones that would lie atop them. Still, people tread the paths aware of what’s under their feet. Somber, silent on such a sunny day, until they come upon a smokestack, long extinguished from belching ash gray fog around the clock.

Philip love doing Wordle, playing Pickleball, and writing short fiction, many of which have made it into magazines.