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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 4, December 2018
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Catherine J.S. Lee
Eastport, Maine, USA


Summer Flight

It’s the smell that brings it all back. That sweet dry scent of grass and clover rising from the knee-deep hay. Unc could’ve pitchforked all that loose hay down to the floor of the barn and fed it to the cows, but he never did. He wouldn’t take away one of our favorite pastimes.

We cousins had our ritual. Climb the wooden wall-ladder to the loft. Scuff through the hay the way we did through deep autumn leaves. Mount the stacked bales to one of the massive crossbeams ten feet high. Walk with arms outstretched to its midpoint.

Then, one by one, jump, falling through the dust-dancing sunbeams shining around the loading door. Land in the warm, soft-but-prickly hay. Do it again, and again and again and again.

And years later, wonder how we ever had the nerve.

pasture breeze
the littlest pony
snorts out a fly

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