By Lisa Olstein
Someone I love has died. I am certain, but I cannot
tell who.
A bird that sounds like a cuckoo calls the hours like an old
clock, only not the hours we mean.
I think I see into each
day, but it is every thing in its turn reflecting the sky, tossing
back what it is shown. Through the window, an owl
announces tonight’s neatly wrapped package of bone and
fur. There is no rope swing unraveling in the moonlight. You
cannot hope backwards or in reverse.
SHANNON FOX
Shannon is a multi-genre writer of stories spanning past, present, and future. Her work has appeared in DreamForge Anvil, Air & Nothingness Press, and Third Flatiron, among others. She has a B.A. in Literature-Writing from UC-San Diego. When not writing, she spends her time dancing with horses which she’s found is significantly easier to do with four feet instead of two. She lives in San Diego, CA, with her husband and three cats – one of whom may or may not be a demon in disguise.
Author | Owner at Minute Marketing | Equestrian | Real Estate Industry Expert | Small Business Marketing | Colorado Native | San Diego Based
Shannon Fox - Author 