by Gillian Parrish Though they would all be dead in a few weeks, the campus oaks were healthy—root, limb, and leaf. Minh always parked in a neighbourhood north of campus so she could take the path under their canopy to listen to the summer leaves or watch the winter branches crack the sky. Jeff, her …
by JR Boudreau Driving to the job three abreast in the front of the van. “Painted Ladies” is on the radio. We pass a field of black cows mechanically chewing cud and Mitch makes obnoxious smooching noises at them through the open window while he steers. His nose is ever scrunched up as if he’s …
by Patty Somlo I can picture a rustic cabin, its once dark wood bleached by the sun. The small square structure with faded cedar siding sits at the edge of a black volcanic cliff, overlooking a windswept, white sand beach. Gray clouds scurry across the sky while rays of sunlight sneak through to brighten the …