Francis Flavin
“Fireweed in Autumn,” “Night Falls,” an “High Desert Nightfall”
A sentinel for three seasons,
The fireweed stands unsteady
In the freshening breeze.
A phoenix of the scorched earth,
Its seeds break out in gossamer clouds,
Seeking newly ravaged lands to restore.
The fireweed stands unsteady
In the freshening breeze.
A phoenix of the scorched earth,
Its seeds break out in gossamer clouds,
Seeking newly ravaged lands to restore.
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The Outcast Land
The old pickup sped through the night like a spaceship in the void. The only contact with reality was the faint whir of studs on frozen asphalt. Lake felt disembodied — a vagrant thought alone in the dark. He loved night travel when reality only occasionally interposed in the form of a long-haul trucker or startled moose.
The truck veered toward the shoulder as he passed through a dense bank of wind-swept snow.
The truck veered toward the shoulder as he passed through a dense bank of wind-swept snow.
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