in flood-soaked dirt
Wee people stare at the rickety bridge rising over a patchy rivulet. Steam from shared tea ring-arounds their chatty mouths. Sipping from acorn caps, they all agree the tea is good. “I like the zing of it,” one chimes in. Ever gossiping, they spy the first iris bloom and clap with delight for what’s ahead. A feckless fisherman aims a pole over water, his leafy jacket stuck round stick-thin arms. “Not even a bite,” he snorts over his shoulder. Yesterday’s torrential rain left a plastic car abandoned in rutted earth. After a long night, the owner finally gives up trying to extract it and treks a path to the nearest help. On her way, she stops for a coup d’oeil of a sundog. “Don’t see that every day,” she murmurs to no one.
E. L. Blizzard