Underneath
- At November 16, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Travelling
1
In the early morning there was almost-ice. Now, the maple leaves float across the pond, the blue sky and dark branches reflected on the surface of the water. At the bottom, waterlogged, a thick layer of fallen leaves covers mud, and the mud covers sleeping frogs and turtles. The water is clear as glass and smells strangely sweet, like must. In this pond the gods are brewing maple leaf wine.
Hunting Season
- At November 12, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 0
I have always wondered why hunters wear blazing orange for safety in the autumn woods. They walk like dryads through the forest, the leaves/their sleeves turning and glinting and fluttering among the baring branches. The dog in her protective vest crashes through the dying undergrowth like a bear and comes upon unsuspecting hunters like a coyote. No longer a dog, she is a burning bush with legs.