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HERE ON THE PLAINS WHERE THE WIND EMBRACES
LIGHT AND THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT,
WHERE THE WIND IS THE VOICE
OF THE GODS COME DOWN,
THE RUMOR OF SONG BEFORE SINGING BEGINS,
HERE THE PEOPLE UNDER THE WINDS
ARE WANDERING EVER TOWARDS HOME,
FOREVER IN MOVEMENT AN OLD MAN IS SINGING
THE SONG OF AN ABSENT COUNTRY,
BEAUTIFUL, HEARTLESS AS SUNLIGHT,
COLD AS IMAGINED WINDS
BEHIND THE EYE OF THE RAIN,
AND WIDE BEFORE US, MY SONS AND FATHERS,
THE SONG OF THE COUNTRY CENTERS AND SWOOPS
LIKE A HAWK IN A SLEEPING LAND,
BORNE UPON HUNGER AND THERMALS,
SINGING FOREVER, SINGING.
The Blood Sea Monster
Barbara Siegel and Scott Siegel
Out of breath - and nearly out of hope - I ran across the wet sand,
looking for a place to hide. After the terrible storm earlier that day,
running along the muddy beach felt like running in a huge bowl of thick
mush. But I ran just the same because Thick-Neck Nick, the village
baker, was dead-set after me.
I had lost Thick-Neck when I made a quick dash between
two buildings and headed down toward the sea. I
knew he might realize that I had come this way, but then I
saw my salvation: along the shore was a long row of fishing
boats.
Clutching the stolen loaf of bread close to my body, I
looked back over my shoulder. Thick-Neck hadn't yet
reached the beach. I took my chance and dove into the very
first boat.
After covering myself with a heavy netting, I took in
deep drafts of air, trying to catch my breath
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