The Swamp of My Subconscious

I sprawl out over the sun-baked earth as if shoved. My hands burn from the scrape, and my face lands flat on its side. I get to my knees and blow dirt from my mouth. All around me is a barren wasteland. No vegetation or shade exists except for the thin dark clouds that block

87 Flips

“Dad! Can you smell that?” This is never a comfortable question coming from a four year old. “What Benny?” “It’s Spring!” I smile. He’s a few months early, but I smell it too. Last week the thermometer in my truck registered -4º F. Yesterday, February 5th, it was 53ºF and sunny. Winter in Connecticut. As