On:

The Deer I They would fire on three.  Red leaves, yellow leaves, green leaves. The shot—like the birth of his son. The leaves.  The animal. The son cowered in the bushes.  The father took the son’s gun and counted. One through six bullets. The son had not fired the gun. Continue Reading

On:

Toads are unlovely: plump, bumpy, gawkward. But I’ve been fond of them since I was young. Their inoffensive, comical dignity amused me. Gaze into a toad’s lovely golden eyes and you quickly become its friend. Why, then, did I shoot a toad in my backyard when, age twelve, I hadContinue Reading

On:

The trees are old in the forest of Arden. They hold many secrets. The greenest grow at the border of the tame world. Supple firs and bendy pines peak above sprawling hardwoods. Tall, wide oaks dot the perimeter charming the senses with song birds and the fluffy-tailed squirrels. Lush mossContinue Reading

On:

the sky was there  distorted at the edges   but there  clear crystal blue     his wings burned  his mind locked  he battled the Plexiglas sky    over and again   his head bumped  hoping   for an improbable escape    I was afraid  his death   would stainContinue Reading