Lunch

The birds come to my yard to eat. They come in Winter for red berries, pull invertebrates from the ground in Spring. In Autumn, they eat ripe seeds of grass. In Summer, they eat fruit: grapes, apples, pears, plums. I live in an old orchard. In my neighbor’s yard, a…

After my mom and I clear brush from her property, we burn it in the bonfire. — A flyaway ember as small as a gnat aims for my jacket. It lands on my arm. I seal the wound with duct tape. After the fire diminishes in intensity and most of the brush has been consumed, we have less to do. My mother takes my daughter for a…

I awoke, as I always did, laying on my back in the sand. It’s really more of a coming to than an awakening. Disappearing still makes me queasy. I wonder if this will go away. Sometimes I come to with a slight headache. I feel the dense sand of the…

A short story about a janitor. — Tonight, like every night, is cold. The men huddle around the fire in jackets and jeans. Tight wool caps hug their heads. Tall pines encircle them, as rigid and alert as totem poles, with bushy black branches that narrow into windows to reveal a thousand white stars. …