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 Robert Novick Hummingbird Over the calla lilies Midday cloud shadows raced. The hummingbird darted and stalled. Suspended Among the inverted violet bells. Upon his throat, an iridescent ruby gorget Nestled within the thick green Of his feathers. Through the rustling foliage He dove and emerged On the other side,…