About Life

Where There’s Smoke

The heat here has turned grasses into a balding, crackling, brittle mat; the ground sounds like dry Rice Krispies underfoot. Clumps of locusts, skilled in martial arts and armored up in primary colors (mostly red, yellow, and green), strut around with rude self-confidence. If they're part of the food chain, I'll eat my hat. As… Continue reading Where There’s Smoke