100 Word Story by Stephen Harris

It was time to go. I’d wandered the streets in this mountain town, adrift in the river gorge, my head hidden in fogs of imagined poetry. I wrote in notebooks and traded my pennies for coffee in the diner and hardly spoke. I sat in the park on Sunday listening to the farmers children making music for free. And now it was played out. I had sifted the city and found stories, but I’d been silent too long. I left town on the #26 bus with pockets full of the noise of the river as it fumbled over the stones.

I am writer and photographer living in Maine with my wife and various animals. I’ve been writing and looking through cameras for most of my 60 years. A diagnosis of MS in 2003 and it’s attendant disability has kept me out of the kitchen, so to speak, since 2010. Writing and making photographs keeps me mostly sane. But not so sane that I can’t write and make photographs.

Stephen Harris

My exercise in self aggrandizement is here:

6 thoughts on “Ithaca

  1. Nice and compact, good read. It reminds me of a topic I once started on a poetry and prose board to write a great novel in 50 words or less.


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