Hunger

1 Minute Read Time

Photo by Kea Mowat on Unsplash
The hawk is circling a sky the color of wet newspapers. All over 
town the goldenrod is going to seed, and the bees turn lazy with
the lack of flowers. Even so the hunger persists. Look around. The
nests in the trees are suddenly obvious. The sand confirms the
animals. I think of you not thinking of me. I find the last good
berry in the center of a bush. The hawk is farther off now, but the
river keeps sliding through the middle of this field, draining a place
that is somewhere full.

Read more from Issue 16.2.

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