A quiet remembrance for those who never came home.
Author: CJ Bowers
Ice, Ice…Maybe Not
Nothing says ‘first snowfall’ like brushing snow off the car while Vanilla Ice mocks you from the radio.
Pale in the Wheat
The fog never left that field—and something pale still waits among the wheat
The Crow on Ashfield Road
They say every town has one quiet place that remembers the dead. Ours is a narrow road with a black crow that never leaves.
The Quiet Among Us
In this town, no one speaks above a whisper — and the quiet watches.
Silver Morning
There’s something about the first frost that always makes me pause. The stillness, the breath in the air, the way the garden seems to hold its last bit of color. It feels like both a beginning and an end.
I’ll Remember This
The kind of moment you don’t plan, but keep forever.
Before the Sun
The days are shrinking, but there’s still beauty in the dark.
Flickers on the Page
Some days, writing feels like whispering to the walls. The world barely listens. And yet, a sentence winks. A paragraph hums. A thought does a little dance. Those tiny sparks are enough to keep me at it — stubborn, stubborn, and happily so.
Making Room
Tiny shoes, worn blankets, quiet goodbyes.
The CJBuzz 