The scorching July sun beat on our already crimson backs as we stood to our knees in the creek. The refreshing cool ripples were a short-lived relief from the burning sun above, as we positioned ourselves under the shade of trees and waitedーquietly. Our laughter stifled in the moments of silence before they came. Springing from the water right into our open and ready hands while squeals of excitement and restrained laughter filled the thick summer air. As we began our trek home, giggling with pride at our success, we barely noticed the burning pavement under our calloused, bare feet.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a graduate of St. John Fisher College, majoring in English, with a concentration in writing while also being an editor in the campus literary magazine Angles.She is furthering her education by attending SUNY Brockport for her master’s in English, specializing in creative writing. Following graduation, she is interested in working in the editing and publishing field.

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

The three sisters couldn’t spend their summer at home because of smallpox in the town. Their parents acquired the old farmhouse close to the boarding school and their favorite teacher agreed to spend her vacation taking care of them. She told them why the house was empty, of the little girl, who drowned in the cow pond. In time, the spirit came to each: in a dream; as a light over the field at dusk; and to the third sister, as the woman she spent the rest of her life with, from the age of twenty-eight, in a Boston marriage.

From Guest Contributor Jon Fain

Thus far in 2020, Jon’s fiction has appeared in 50-Word Stories, Fleas on the Dog, City. River. Tree., and Blue Lake Review.

A road runs from the bare hills until it touches by the river. It dips among the summer sage and beckons leaves to faintly whirl. For those who lightly travel, an aged silence lures a calm desire. The old pine chants along and offers to stitch a tired wish. The sun murmurs warmly as it climbs to the last needle’s tip and chatters with so many dewdrops. Rummaging through fading prints, a low sigh rustles to a scattered impression. Here, it etches away brief moments of wonder and whispers a promise to follow when wings stray below to quietly suggest.

From Guest Contributor Kristi Kerico

Kristi is a psychology major at Pikes Peak Community College. She is studying to become a horticultural therapist. She currently works at a bookstore and volunteers at a zoo and nature center. She began writing after enrolling in a creative writing course at PPCC. She enjoys poetry the most, considering it’s brief yet complex beauty. She also loves writing with a focus on nature.

The creature basked in the sensory experience that was home, almost oblivious to the otherwise hypnotic aroma of clover which wafted in from beyond the hive’s entrance each summer.

Its world ended when a great hairy paw collapsed walls, mashing bee with wax and bark as the bear claimed honey.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

I was the kid who sparkled when they walked in the door. The bookish brat who would make her father chuckle while balancing a mountain of literature above her head.

Until it was gone.

From Guest Contributor Alexandra Sullivan

The rain is pounding on the window and I see water seeping through the sill. I put towels to block it, but to no avail, and the dogs are barking uncontrollably, pacing back and forth at the clap of thunder and lightning. With nothing else to do, I sit and wait for it to pass. A summer storm doesn’t usually last long.

I look out the window and see abundant sunshine. In the distance a glimmer of a rainbow appears.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

We have walked about 30,000 miles together. That’s more than once around the circumference of the earth. On clear mornings a sliver moon greets us. Autumn brings magic. From summer’s green comes a cacophony of color. Winter evenings are deeply dark. Light the torch to check the footing.

“So what do you talk about?” A few have asked this. We communicate in silence. Each small step a giant leap for matrimony.

From Guest Contributor Sam Brody

Charles Delany stepped off the horse and buggy. In front of him a white
shingled wood house with a porch, surrounded by an abundance of trees,
overlooked the ocean. He removed his hat and walked slowly up the
pathway to the porch. He sat on the wooden bench and took it all in,
listening to the waves slapping against the fishing dock.

“Okay, son, this’ll be your home for the summer. The doctor said the
fresh air and trees are good for your condition.”

Charles nodded and when his father walked away, he coughed clumps of red
into his handkerchief.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Last summer it was warm with sun drips. The rain would pour and pour, filling my yard to a pond. When one morning I had a visitor inside this blue and ceramic bird feeder a little creature peeking his head out with excitement. I peeked in not knowing what to expect. It was a tree frog with little suction cups on his feet, so cool. He leaped out and climbed onto the tree so fast looking for something. I guess he was trying to find a huge raindrop to drink from. He was snatching magic, a raindrop with a rainbow.

From Guest Contributor JoyAnne O’Donnell

Hurricane season is upon us. Heat is the agitation of molecules. Today it’s raining, and my car is lonely as an empty swimming pool. Like a lost pilot, I drive myself around and around, although I don’t know where I’m going. All I can hear is black and white noise. Yesterday, I combed my hysterical hair, so I looked like someone based on real events. When I applied for the lifeguard job, I told them I prefer select flesh, and I never let the weather bother me. Was Amelia Earhart’s body ever recovered? I’m pretty sure there is still time.

From Guest Contributor Brad Rose