Beneath The Snow

Winter arrived early. Sheep were herded off the pasture. Leaves gathered by Pa stood statuesque in domed heaps.

Grandpa didn’t look at them; reminded him of Quonset huts, the friends he lost in war. Our border collies stared and growled, sensing something amiss. I discovered why.

Furry heads with pink pointed snouts erupted like volcanoes from new, smaller mounds across the hushed terrain, spewing dirt from within.

Pa noticed? Doubt it. Rosie pulled him into town often.

With spring in a few months, planting season will bring him back to the fields.

He’ll learn all there’s to know about moles.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Last Ditch Effort

The slave driver’s eagles squawk and shift violently in the wind to dodge the endless barrage of waves crashing against the rocky cliff’s edge. By our scent, they know we are close, but they can’t see us.

“It must’ve been an illusion, pa,” says my son. His tunic is soaked by sea and sweat as he rips oar against cruel wave. “The heat makes one see things while fishing. Perhaps there’s no cave.”

I struggle to speak and strain through the invisibility incantation I have surrounding us and our boat, “Row boy! It was no illusion. It’s our only salvation.”

From Guest Contributor John Martinez