She swings again, the blunt-edged sword whistling past his ear by a hair’s breadth. He slices upward with his own wooden blade. Continue reading “Who’s Gettin’ Schooled?”
Nora reached two fingers towards the mound of shaving cream on the tiny table. Sliding her fingers across and down, she palmed the foam, squishing it flat and rotating her hand slowly. Continue reading “The Mandala”
Smokey sighed and sniffed the shirt front and wide-brimmed hat of the abandoned Park Ranger uniform. It had been dropped near the scenic overview, next to the Michigan-plated Lexus. Betsy likely hadn’t even noticed that her guide had paws, not hands and feet.
Betsy jogged through the underbrush, pounding her Calphalon saucepan with a designer stainless slotted spoon. The rhythm was irregular, to keep the grizzly ahead in a state of terrified confusion. Continue reading “An Ounce of Prevention, or Who’s Chasing Whom?”