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Fallow
156 wordsAll of this—these windowless warehouses, these factories made, seemingly, of styrofoam; these used-car prairies that glare pink in the sunset. All of this used to be fields. Just ten years ago there was a cabin, there, made of rain-darkened wood, roof caving in, half rotten, clung over with moss, and there was a wagon wheel…
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Far-Fallen Wind
55 wordsNight wind warmed by the creekside, its water running plump above milky stones, and a cedar branch brushed low by the day’s rain, its bristled fingers braided into shadow, tall as the ferns as the snowberry as the quilted sky, brown in its cloudlight and seaweed-blue between, the water perfectly silent against the far-fallen wind.
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And Still
50 wordsAnd still the owls find the low evening, their voices tangled in leaf litter and fog, and still the jays crackle wild-disguised as red-tails as hawks, and still the raccoons pig-snarl, their paws caked with dirt and blood, and still the cedar trees shiver, silver-eyed, ghostly against the setting sun.
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Sea Lions
38 wordsThe sea lions bellow, their grumbles percussive behind the basalt towers and gull-stained wind, behind the open space cupped against your ears and the sand gritted into your mouth there they are, the sea lions barking like bears.
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