Summer Rain
Lenore Weiss
06/17/2013
thunders its approach in the wrapping paper of grey clouds, lights down to deposit a calling card– silver beads on a chute of grass
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thunders its approach in the wrapping paper of grey clouds, lights down to deposit a calling card– silver beads on a chute of grass
It’s been a year since I arrived in the northeastern portion of Louisiana, a wilderness and a wonderland to a northerner who has never lived south before. I’ve been introduced
We are God’s Infidels driving to Pecanland Mall on Sunday morning (everyone’s in church) to see the new blockbuster, Star Trek into Darkness, purchase tickets, wait inside an abandoned food
“…she was short on sleep and in no mood for bad news.” There was no other way to tell her except for straight out. “Was the whole crew laid off?”
“There you are. I thought maybe you went home to plant watermelons.” Mark climbed out of a truck. “What’s bugging you? You told me to check the readings. I did.”
Jay hurried to the finishing area, glad it was getting warmer and that he didn’t need to freeze his buns off working outside. Over these last six months, he’d watched