Flash in the Pan

A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights


by Maggie Manning

On a wet and windy early-summer morning, birds call from the grass, from the wires, from the woods. I walk, head down, rain dripping off the bill of my hat, ears attuned to bobolinks calling:

See me, see me, see me! Surely you can see I am; I matter. Despite the record warmth, despite the pesticides applied to the neat red-clay rows, I am, I matter, and I sing.

I sing of spring, of nests to feather, of broods to feed. I sing of territory, of mating needs, of life, of hope. I sing you into summer, into being, into my world where life goes on.

Maybe Emily Dickinson was right after all: hope is the thing with feathers.

Maggie Manning needs more bobolinks in her world…or needs to listen more closely to them, anyway.

Twenty-eighth Flash

Why I Don’t Have A Bucket List by Tanya Grove
Hilde by Rebecca Gaffron
Ode To Basil by Alice Lowe
A Company Merger Is Like A Death by Kay Butzin
There's A Spaceship In The Backyard, Mommy by Debbie Jones-norberto
Flannel Clad Corpse by Jay Halstead
Book Slut Intervention by Trista Wilson
Morning Routine Of A Suburban, Thirty-something Male by Eric Wilder
Blockade by Ariel Whitworth
I Remember by Mary Purdy
Saying Goodbye by Ed Martin
Wilderness by S.c. Kleinhans
The Bell by Gaye Buzzo Dunn
Mama Rescued Me From Lake George by Mimi Peel Roughton
5 A.m. Revival by Paige Kaye

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