by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by Laura Senff Inspiration approaches in many forms A ray of sunshine or a sliver of moonlight Watching campfire flames ignite The wind blowing in the trees or waves hitting the shore Or even watching winged beasts soar Inspiration in sundry situations transforms Maybe it is a speech on television…