COVID

Bundle

/ Liz H-H / 7 Comments

Homeless person in a thing blanket, in a windy blizzard

She shivered in her layers of jackets, hunched over on the park bench. So cold that even the birds dared not sing for fear of cracking their beaks. A bedraggled squirrel flicked his careworn tail, hopping from frozen bundles of dirty gray leaves, to clods of dirt, to pieces of trash embedded in ice. Try as he might to make little to no contact with the ground, even his toes got cold, and he limped over to a concretized tree and jerked his way up and around the trunk and disappeared. Continue reading →

Six Months Ago…

/ Liz H-H / 3 Comments

snow-covered trees and shrub around a flowing streamIt’s been hot here in the Twin Cities.

Hot and humid.

Hot and humid and COVID.

So much so, that folks are divided on whether to wear masks or not, and what the actual distance of six feet looks like: whether distance is different in an enclosed space versus an open space, whether the current air filtration system is adequate to dispel the exhalations (the coronavirus soup), whether six feet is buffer enough when one is active, whether adding a drink or two to the mix makes for exponential risk… Continue reading →

RIP Twin Cities

/ Liz H-H / 3 Comments

cracked heart picture in pavementThis gentle giant
Ended by corrupt police
Remember George Floyd.

Hope strained, smoke-stained streets
Shattered hearts, Minnesota
Patience, as we heal.

(This, on top of COVID. And those who gather together–prayers broken by opportunistic anarchists–risk a steeper next wave in the coming weeks.)

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2020)

Necessary Sacrifice

/ Liz H-H / 12 Comments

The spellbook was specific: one hundred candles to draw and light the circle, less one for each sorceress. Fewer, and the plague would continue. Once fully lit, the circle could not be crossed. Back to back, the three worked quickly, coaxing flame from dry wick. The twins moved clockwise, junior apprentice Bella counterclockwise. Continue reading →