>The Mired Earth

>I won’t dwell on the symbolism, but there’s a globe, bright blue and green, stuck in a backwater pool in my creek. I noticed it yesterday afternoon, but it was still a surprise when I got up this morning and looked out. It’s the only color–everything else is black or brown or three shades of gray. And there in my creek (Folly Mills Creek, source not only of the name of this blog, but also year-round gurgling bliss) was the big bobbing ball, stuck in a collage of leaves and twigs just where the flow bends, ready for the rocky cascade to the next level. And I promised I wouldn’t dwell on it, but it does seem to me we’re stuck right now, that forward progress is hard to come by, that it’s too late (and too hard) to go back.

Tonight we’re expecting up to 6 inches of snow, and up to 8 more tomorrow. I’m wondering what that will do to the earth mired in my creek.

About the author

I am the author of three novels--THE LAST BIRD OF PARADISE, OLIVER'S TRAVELS, and THE SHAMAN OF TURTLE VALLEY--and three story collections--IN AN UNCHARTED COUNTRY, HOUSE OF THE ANCIENTS AND OTHER STORIES, and WHAT THE ZHANG BOYS KNOW, winner of the Library of Virginia Literary Award for Fiction. I am also the co-founder and former editor of Prime Number Magazine and the editor of the award-winning anthology series EVERYWHERE STORIES: SHORT FICTION FROM A SMALL PLANET.

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.