The spliff flared and hissed at midnight, lighting up Joel’s sharp features. He passed the butt to another hand hard as his own, exhaled, and pushed the swing back. The chains were icy in his fingers, but the pain felt good. Continue reading
swing
Giant Change
Hugo, as a young one, as seen by Kittelson
Hugo was unhappy. He’d been left in the tree swing too long. The swing, his favorite, hung from a branch of the biggest Douglas fir on Heffinger Mountain. A snack, a nap, a swing in the sack, and he’d be a happy boy all day. Continue reading
Valley of the Trolls 