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 Diane Walters I’m a slob! Right now the dishes are piled up in every square inch of my ten-foot kitchen. They are on the stove, in the stove, on the counter, in both sinks and in the dish drain rack; they are stacked two and a half-feet high on…
