I HOARD the THING that brings me joy, struggling to find the right PITCH that satisfies my childish anger and my commitment to the daily ritual. Feeling ITCHY and fidgety about it all, I yield and write.

Georg’ann

Just off the path, overlooking the lake, I HEARD an unusual sound coming from the THICK wilds of weeds, scraggly new trees, woodland shrubbery. It had an odd PITCH that set me searching for its source. Leaning in, as slow and still as possible but could find nothing. Kept moving ever so softly, pushing vines and branches to the side. It was only later, when my arms became intensely ITCHY, that I regretted not paying closer attention to the flora in my quest for the fauna.

Heather