This hillside is an open wound. The other side of the gorge is twice as high as the side where the house is. The creek at the bottom runs swiftly with the roar of a waterfall.
The earth have been giving way under the tall trees at the edge of this hill for a while now. It has become a game of sorts trying to guess which tree will succumb next. Especially after a persistent rain.
The kids delight in coming here. They never forget their super soaker water guns. In a desparate move we started adding grass seeds to the water, and telling them to point toward the hill. This feels hopeless.
A cow is screaming across the arroyo. Everything else wanders through here. Why not cows! I start toward the window – I wake up, entangled in the blanket.
For dVerse poets pub The line we are to use with our flash fiction of 144 words or less are:-