In her excitement about the HEAVY TROUT on her line, Frankie almost blew it. But her mama and Uncle Frank had taught her well. She played the line and managed to bring the big fish in. But in truth, it UNDID her to catch sight of the beauty and SPUNK of the creature. It twisted and CLUNG to life. In the end, saying a prayer of thanks for the moment, she FLUNG it back into the ice-cold river. Carefully walking back across the slippery rocks, she wondered if anyone at home would understand why she had done that. Gathering up her stuff, she looked back at the river — the rushing water, the play of light, the insects swirling in the clean, clear air. The beauty made her heart hurt with emotions beyond her 12 years. She knew this was important but couldn’t quite say why.

Georg’ann

Without the cat sleep has changed.
Deeper, steadier, more vivid.
Each night DREAM after dream.
Being STUCK in a shed somewhere
on the edge of town, afraid
of being discovered hiding there.
Walking along a wide BLUFF
overlooking a clear deep stream,
fish swimming over spotted rocks.
Images FLUNG into being,
what meaning they hold
is of no interest. I don’t want
to puzzle through my psyche.
My preoccupation is with timing.
These dreams mark the nights
without my constant companion.
I want the comfort of disrupted sleep.

Heather