On Sally Scully’s Bench
To Tyshawn Sorey’s Autumn Leaves

Faded blue jean sky. 56° of sharply slanted sunlight setting aglow early pink and white magnolia blossoms. Wispy clouds, riding a cold and strengthening breeze, kaleidoscope chilly shadows on the rain-dampened earth.

The third edition of the Antihumanist is out, and contains at least one absolutely amazing short story - and one of mine, too.

Warm bench. Wood chips scuffed away from under my feet. Half a dozen different browned leaves and patches of detached trunk moss. Stems of varying lengths and widths. Chunk of orange peel. Something silvery. Tussocky grass a leg-and-a-half stretch away, quickly filling-in to make a springy, green clearing. Short, white-petaled flowers randomly distributed, then clumped together. Freckles on the lawn. Light, fitful breeze, cool when it blows through the soon-to-bud but still winter bare branches. Flicker of cars beyond a mix of trees. Some firs still green, cherries close to bloom. Ocean rumble of tires on asphalt, cresting in a revving motorcycle engine. Patches of blue overhead, but mostly wispy clouds, moving fast. More breeze. Storm coming.

Still working on it!

Working on the website. Figuring out the blog. At some point this space will capture thoughts and observations. Right now, though, this text is just a placeholder. Sorry about that!