THE TOWERS FAMILY SAGA
        Episode 90
The iron bells fell silent,
leaving only the hum of
the desert wind in the eaves.
Robert sat on the deck,
polishing the brass of the
old telegraph key once more.
He could see the green
shoots of the garden
breaking the surface of
the dark, valley soil.
"The first family arrived
at the gate," Minnie said,
her voice soft with wonder.
"They have a small trailer
and a crate of old tools."
Robert didn't ask for
their names or their debt.
"Tell them to unhook near
the library," he replied.
"The solar bank has enough
to share the light."
Virginia was already there,
helping the mother with
a scraped knee and a
bottle of mountain water.
The radical honesty was
no longer a theory; it
was a bandage and a cup.
Dorothy and Shirley were
coding the registry for
the township's new ledger.
It wasn't a list of assets,
but a list of skills.
"One plumber, one teacher,
and a man who knows how
to fix a radio," Shirley
noted, tapping her screen.
The Towers weren't just
building a fort anymore.
They were building a tribe.
The black sedans had
vanished from the base,
replaced by the dusty
trucks of the curious.
Barbara was at the gate,
handing out the folding
manuals for the houses.
"Welcome to the Ridge,"
she said to every soul.
The saga was a blueprint
for a life that couldn't
be foreclosed by a bank.
Robert looked at the "Robin"
logo on the main door.
The virus was dead; the
protection was alive.
The Arizona sun began to
dip behind the white peaks.
Minnie sat beside him,
her hand resting on his
worn, sturdy knee.
"We did it, Robert."
"We’re just getting started,"
he said, watching the
smoke rise from a new
community fire pit.
The family was the flame.
The work was the wood.
The peace was the light.

  My books and screenplays:
 www.boomlakeproductions.com
    Turquoise Software
    solartoys@yahoo.com