Crystal bottles stood before her, hip shot in relaxed groups. Scented soldiers, they had no expectation they’d be called to order; Treena preferred sweatpants to skinny jeans, books to bodies grinding on a dance floor. Continue reading “Cure for Cabin Fever”
Wind howls down the street, down the sidewalk and hill, so difficult to tackle on mornings like today. Icy shards lift, whip around and slap Laurel’s cheeks as she trudges against the wind. She swears, wishing she’d strapped ice grippers onto her hiking boots. The sun limns the hilltop. Continue reading “A Cold Walk With Janus”
Above the timberline, stunted trees of high altitude are little more than memory. As far as the eye can see, reindeer moss is sparked with tiny white flowers and golden clusters of cloudberry. Continue reading “Homeward Hike”
She stood by last night’s bonfire. Flames leapt high, our drunken faces and dancing limbs in hideous relief, like Dante’s inferno on the shore of this northern bay. Continue reading “Red Sky at Morning”
We come down the winding stone stairs in two groups of three, hands cupped to steady the splash and flicker of fragrant oil lamps. The deeper we go, the louder the rush and roll of the underground river flowing through the apothecary. Here is where the souls of the Mothers slow for the earthly; here is where appeals to heal scars from ill deeds are most likely granted.