A Tidings of Magpies

by John Koethe . . . humming in the summer haze. Diane christened it the Bean House, Since everything in it came straight from an L.L. Bean Home catalog. It looks out upon two Meadows separated by a stand of trees, and at night, When the heat begins to dissipate and the stars Become visible in the uncontaminated sky, I like to sit here on the deck, listening to the music Wafting from the inside through the sliding patio doors, Listening to the music in my head. It's what I do: The days go by, the days remain the same, dwindling Down to a precious few as I try to write my name In the book of passing days, the book of water. Some Days I go fishing, usually unsuccessfully, casting Gently across a small stream that flows along beneath Some overhanging trees or through a field of cows. Call it late bucolic: this morning I awoke to rain And a late spring chill, with water dripping from the Eaves, the apple trees, the pergola down the hill. ...

by Nancy Fitzgerald There is a moment just before a dog vomits when its stomach heaves dry, pumping what's deep inside the belly to the mouth. If you are fast you can grab her by the collar and shove her out the door, avoid the slimy bile, hunks of half chewed food from landing on the floor. You must be quick, decisive, controlled, and if you miss the cue and the dog erupts en route, you must forgive her quickly and give yourself to scrubbing up the mess. Most of what I have learned in life leads back to this. please note: photo by Sheri Van Wert