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Concrete Fields
116 wordsEvery time I return to the town where I grew up, another field has died. I think, “They can’t build anymore houses. There isn’t any room.” And then they find room. The grassy lot, once rich with goldenrod and dandelions. The meadow, once overrun with blackberries but open, muddy in the rain, perched over by…
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Summer Rain
72 wordsHow soft the rain sounds, like pebbles flushed through a stream, click, and click, then all at once, like the inside of a wave as it breaks, polyphony, the voices and their colors. the shifting powders of soil, the ants and pill bugs drowned in soup-like puddles, the robins warmly puffed up, their eyes crossed…
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Take A Stone From The Desert
517 wordsTake a stone from the desert. Carry it home with you; keep it safe in the inner pouch of your backpack. Unwrap it carefully. Feel how it has cooled. Turn it over in your hands. Feel the softness of your fingers, exfoliated by wind and stone, and how the rock, too, is smoother than you…
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The Piano – A Short Story
1,479 wordsI have been around fur-ones all my life. They do not have fur on the tips of their fingers, but it is everywhere else. On some it is pale, touched but mostly unseen, and on others—the nose-ones mostly—it is an encapsulating seed, the vessel through which they experience the world. As you can see I…
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