Dirt

Dirt and dried mud clung to every surface of the house, a layer of grime so thick it suggested years had passed since any cleaning had been undertaken. Yet the inhabitants, their own clothes equally soiled, acted as if everything about the situation were normal. Their sunny dispositions and politeness in the face of even the rudest insinuations forced the consideration that exterior appearances were, at least in this situation, misleading.

When the discovery of a mass grave was discovered underneath their domicile, conclusions were again revised. Contamination of the home is indeed a sign of contamination of the soul.

The Mouse

Robert and Rebecca arrived home to find a dead mouse on their kitchen floor.

It was an old building, so Rebecca was not surprised there would be rodents. Rather than being grossed out, she began reflecting on her own mortality, wondering if she were better or worse off than the mouse for having knowledge of her impending oblivion. It was a thought that often kept her up late into the night, as she listened to Robert's light snoring and choked back tears.

Robert could only think about the mess that must have attracted the mouse, and began a thorough cleaning.

Spring Cleaning

Winter surrendered. Riverbanks croaked a single splash with each muddied footstep. Wild Sweet William's dainty lavender flower mingled lush green leaves and twisting vines of yellow-hued buttercups and scarlet sumac. Scraps of ocean blue ribbon and coral-colored yarn frantically entwined weaving sticks and leaves, nesting six brown-speckled eggs. Wild turkeys gathered strutting rowed corn fields. Beneath the refuge of centenarian pine fawns struggle against tottering wobbled legs. Snapping turtles lazily sit side by side sunning on downed oak logs across the trickling eddy. A deluded hummingbird, hoodwinked by an empty bird feeder, tells me to get busy.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld