Andrea Corwin
Bio
🐘Wildlife 🧘♀️ 🖋️🈷️ 3rd°🥋 See nature through my eyes and photos.
Poetry, haiku, fiction, horror, life experiences. Written without A.I. © Andrea O. Corwin
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Threads/ Instagram @andicorwin
Achievements (7)
Stories (473)
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The Rainbow Train
Lights were flashing behind the drawn curtains, and I heard rushing, and clacking noises…. I jerked upright, hitting my head. "Ow! Dammit!" Rubbing the top of my head, I frowned and saw a door on the other side of this very narrow room. I leaned downward, gripped the scratchy navy wool blanket, and peered over the side. I was in the upper berth of a train sleeping compartment, the only occupant. "What the hell?" I mumbled aloud, then twisted around and swept the curtain to the side. Lights and countryside whizzed past, the train gently rocking on the tracks. My watch was missing, and I had no idea what time it was. How had I fallen asleep on a train; how had I climbed into this upper berth with no memory of doing so? Where am I? What direction is this train heading?
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in Fiction
Cloaked in Dragonflies
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Explaining to my daughter what life was like before the era of flying fire-reptiles was a nightly ritual of questions; answers, were in litanies and melodies, sometimes until the glow of daybreak.
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in Fiction
I Learned Euchre At Ma Bell
MA BELLE The telephone company where I began working at the age of seventeen was a great employer with opportunities for women. In those times it was allowed, and the woman hiring manager asked me the question, “If I hire you, are you going to get pregnant and quit?” Those were the days prior to laws against such personal questions.
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in Humans
PAST FRIENDS
ADVENTURES IN CHAOS My gut warned against marrying the blowhard ignorant ass, such a contrast to his sweet neighborly parents and sister. He was an adopted child, and his sister was born two years later. My parents disliked him immensely which made the marriage even more difficult for me.
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in Humans
Freedom Means Responsibility
Widely traveled, I say with certainty there is no better place to live than the United States (in my humble opinion). Americans have freedom to travel across the country and outside of it, at will. The pandemic over the last two years has placed some restrictions on the American people we are not used to; however, we're not oppressed nor experiencing the destruction of homes, schools, hospitals, churches, and apartment complexes. We don't have soldiers rampaging towns, raping, murdering, and committing genocide, as the Ukrainians currently are at the hands of the Russians. We can't imagine explosive mines on our streets, yet the Russians have mined the cities of Ukraine as they exit. Obviously, Putin is committing war crimes, and just like the Nuremberg trials so many years ago, those guilty should be found and tried.
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in The Swamp
Ruby and Mariah
After we euthanized Jezzie, our seventy-pound Australian Shepherd, adopted nine years earlier, my husband Ralph decided he wanted another Aussie. I found one online at the Wenatchee, Washington no-kill shelter. We drove from Lakewood, Washington across the mountains to see her in person.
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in Petlife
Night Shadow
Inherited Bungalow My deceased Aunt Lorraine’s small farm was willed to me upon her death. The scanty acreage abutted the Fermilab near Batavia, Illinois, with a bungalow house and a small barn. A covered porch stretched across the entire front of the bungalow, and the barn sat in a semi-circle of sycamore and mulberry trees.
By Andrea Corwin 4 years ago in Fiction
A Living Barn
I could see eyes watching me, a large white head bobbing up and down. Twilight hovered, as if she weren’t sure of her timing this evening, and a few bright planets were already shining in the dimming sky. A jet skimmed miles above, and a large murder of crows headed home to roost in the forest abutting the crooked stream, cawing as they passed. My head swiveled back toward the faded, mostly red barn, just in time to view a smaller head peeking out. Then there were four, bobbing in unison.
By Andrea Corwin 5 years ago in Fiction
