jxmartin

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I have 725 stories published in one collection on the site.
My stories have been read 662692 times and 149 of my stories have been cherry picked.
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Joseph Xavier Martin

My stories

Communion

THE COMMUNION The chilly winds swept over the Lake Erie ice. The mist and damp, of an overnight cloudburst, lingered and added to the feeling of late autumn. It was May 1st in Western New York.

Midas Machine

M I D A S M A C H I N E Our plane cruised westward, flying high over Colorado and the Rocky Mountains. In the fading light, the snow tipped, granite range stretched far below us. The jagged, snow-laden outcroppings looked like great white capped Atlantic rollers, as they passed beneath us. The effect is decidely nautical, looking down from 35,000 feet.

Banks Of The Cazenovia

The Banks of The Cazenovia I grew up along the banks of this redoubtable stream in Western New York State. The people who live along this waterway are my friends and neighbors. Over the years, we have watched ice jams and floods wreak havoc on the surrounding terrain. We have also enjoyed its' languorous beauty during late summer and early fall. The history of Western New York is reflected in the growth of settlements up and down the Cazenovia, from the late 1700's to present day. The names of the towns and villages, on its banks, are reflective of America's waves of immigrants.

CHRISTMAS VISIT

The Christmas Visit The wind, blowing across Lake Erie from the west, was chilling on this cold December day in Buffalo, N.Y. The snows had not yet come, but the temperature had fallen to the 20's and the air was frigid. The clouds were a dark, dirty gray and pregnant with snow that was to come.

Confession

THE CONFESSION "Bless Me Father For I have Sinned, was the opening incantation of the penitent. "Ego Te Absolve, In Nomine Patris, Filie, Spiritu, Sancti" was the muffled reply. It came both as an admonition and an inquiry, through the wooden lattice panel, of the confessional. For ease of purpose, The Priest in the middle was able to hear confessions from booths, on both sides. He had but to slide back the wooden shutter, to speak with either of us. Anonymity was hoped for by everyone, but sometimes voices had a way of carrying, in the larger churches with older members whose hearing wasn't very good.

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