Dave Wright Writes

Boots for Special Occasions Dave Wright The scuffed-up boot sprawled on its side in the corner of the garage. Its tongue lolled like that of a sleepy bloodhound no longer interested in the hunt. Worn eyelets stared at a cobwebbed corner, a smattering of mud anchoring the web. The boot’s mate lay a few feet away, carelessly dropped; its Merrill label obscured by dried crust. A field mouse sniffed the interior, contemplating whether or not to squat there for the winter. Rex Tatum, the owner of the boots would never have abandoned his favorite footwear to the garage. He habitually scraped them clean and placed them in a tidy row next to his Nike sneakers and Sorrel pack boots. But Rex hadn’t been home since he parked his aging Jeep at the Baptism River trail head. A raw wind blew in from the lake as he took his first steps up the path. He was certain conditions would improve when he reached the shelter of cedars and pines that crowded the trail. Despite that confidence, his...

A Ball Point Romance Dave Wright I’m a pen snob. It’s peculiar that someone with my poor penmanship is so particular about the type of pen he uses to scribble on a page—and yet, that is what I am.             For years the love of my life was a red-barreled, medium-built Paper Mate ballpoint with a blue fine-point cartridge. Her thin-barrel cousin was too spindly; her full-figured sister was so thick in the middle I felt like a light-weight wrestler thrown into a heavy-weight cage match. The medium-barrel model was my kind of gal.             I carried her for over ten years, dutifully replacing her used up cartridges with a stockpile hidden securely in my bedroom dresser drawer.             Once, while traveling with family friends in an RV on a cross-country vacation, I was taking a break from driving and slee...