“Song of the Mountains” and “For Just a Handful of Coal” by John C. Mannone
Strip mining decapitates the mountains
Their remains are dumped into rivers
Many tears have been shed by the sky . . . Continue Reading
Online Magazine
Strip mining decapitates the mountains
Their remains are dumped into rivers
Many tears have been shed by the sky . . . Continue Reading
Sheree Stewart Combs GalleryContinue Reading
For now, the wind whispered across my face and neck. It felt like someone’s breath stood right behind me. A breeze seemed to hover around me so close that it curled inside my own breath—a breath that I can no longer call my own. Here, I share my breath with all who have breath and all who have . . . Continue Reading
He was more nervous than before and kept looking around constantly. I tried to walk by him, but he grabbed my arm. He said, ‘It’s coming for me. It’s coming for me and there’s nowhere to go. It stalks me . . . Continue Reading
Still uncertain whether I can be seen, I follow them up the hill, staying as far back as I’m able and still see their lights. I am eager to part with my peculiar company. How my feet ache. How my heart strains. I do not know what awaits me at the Hinterland, but I am unsafe where I am . . .Continue Reading
He’d been hiding in the woods, and every now and then he’d get brave and run up behind someone at night to ask for help, but they’d hear . . . Continue Reading
Then one night George had been awakened by singing. He strained to look at the pallets on the cold cave floor, but the sick soldiers slept on, unaware of the music. It didn’t come from any of them. Though his body ached, George rose from his bed to move toward . . . Continue Reading
Standing at the threshold, he searched the darkness. He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t there, lurking outside the reach of light. Watching. Waiting. He knew it was out there. He’d seen it. And it’d seen him . . . Continue Reading
They were once so much more than an entry to a house, a place to display plants, deposit muddy shoes, and greet people. Their usage was year-round, utilizing a quilt, and relying on the sun, for cold winter days . . . Continue Reading
I gather small fallen branches and twigs and arrange my campfire. Back to the cliff’s edge, to sit and look around. No matter in what direction I look, I see no man-made lights. The darkening sky shows a sliver of moon, and countless stars begin to appear. Other than the whispering of a gentle breeze in some tall grasses behind me, all is silent . . . Continue Reading
Designed using Nevark Premium. Powered by WordPress.