Stephen's Gallery

They offered me the corner office, the one with the view. I laughed. I told them I'd rather have the 21" monitor.

Well, three of the boats are missing, but I learned a lot.

Now this was really a difficult shot. I had watched her for days; she always came back to the same flower. I set up with a 200mm on a tripod, 1/500th, f4. I stood dead still. I only got one exposure - I think the noise of the shutter scared her off. But what a beauty!

I know it seems silly now, although sometimes I think you people just write these books to make us look bad. Like the whole thing was our fault. I tell you, back then, there was nothing more important. It took Bill two months to smuggle the bird out of Cuba, and cost us one of our best operatives. It was Bill's idea. We knew Castro had a weakness for Green Cuban Spotteds. Bill spent hours trying to teach the bird the codes. It would've worked, too, and then no one would have laughed! We heard the parrot was caught when it started to sing the Yale fight song. "Boola boola." You know. We tried to get her out, but it was too late. Poor bird.

It's not so much the bottles themselves, but what's inside. I've made sure that the labels were covered. Which will you try first? Pour yourself a cup. You can watch my eyes - maybe they'll tell you in time to help you decide.
Then again, maybe not.

The plague started in the shantytowns. Those of us who thought we had to be there, or were foolish and brave, could see the pinched blue faces and staring eyes through the dirty windows.

We came to the Bald Knight 'nigh the solstice. He lay on his pallet, held outside the world of men, clutching a whirling crystal 'twixt his still hands. Sir Guy bade me cleave him head to toe, but my heart was chilled. I dared not raise my sword in the service of the Dark Prince. We left him on the beach, and I covered his face with my lady's scarf, a message of faith to Prester John.

Third party filters.

We lived with them for almost three months before they truly accepted us as members of the herd.

Oooooo!

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But...

"Family.." Thanks!

I still don't know if I really saw it. It was in a tunnel in Northern Montana. Everyone else was sleeping, but I was restless, watching the reflections of the train lights in the rivulets of meltwater that soaked through from the snow above. It was only for a moment, maybe it was a pile of rocks, I don't know. But I swear it looked at me in the instant that the rushing of the train brought us together. Then gone.

The crews had left two hours ago. The lights winked on as the sky darkened. He could see the city that would be in the high, cold steel. The clerks, the businessmen, the children. All of them living without knowing the wonder, living in the city that one man had dreamed.

There is no stillness like waiting for dawn at the pier. I can smell the fog in my woolen sweater. The water is as still as the surface of my coffee, broken by ripples only when I bring the cup to my lips.

Even though the days were getting longer, the stars were out as we skied the last kilometer up to the lodge. We were wet and tired and cold and thirsty, and the mulled wine worked its magic from the inside out.