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Ghost Heron
Fiction by Jack B. Bedell The old soul wakes in the top of its cypress tree, beak tucked under wing. It readies its bones for flight knowing the sun will stretch fingers over the horizon line soon. Bare branches let all the cold into its nest this time of year, but the old soul does…
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Country Roads
Fiction by Stuart Phillips “Did you bring me out here to kill me?” My grandmother filled the Buick with her thin, old woman voice; it ricocheted off the headliner as we slewed back and forth in the loose gravel. She was partly right: we were going to help an old woman die. Just not her.…