Photo by Christina Schmidt

Urban Heights

by Rick Kempa
        Relax: no one can see you here. The dogleg of this dead end alley between the two wings of the school building will hide you. Place your right . . .



Photo by Phillip Campana



Left Turn at Albuquerque

by Paul Crenshaw
        In the late 70s, around the time President Carter was negotiating the SALT II Treaty with the Soviet Union, my parents’ marriage . . .





Photo by Heide Weidner


My Armana Period

by Jeffrey Hammond
        One snowy afternoon in early January when I was eight or nine, my sister and I were lying on the living room floor playing checkers. For good luck I was clutching a prized possession . . .




Photo by Neal Harlan

What Is Vanishing

by Megan Harlan
        We’re treasure-hunting again in the open desert of Saudi Arabia’s Eastern Province. This being my family . . .



Photo by Laurie Thompson


by Ana Maria Spagna
        Each summer, while we moved heavy rocks or sawed suspended logs or cleared head-high stinging nettles, Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers . . .



August in August

by Kathleen de Azevedo
        During a break from rehearsal, a group of male actors heads out to take a pee in the back yard. Another actor, Keita, breaks his Ramadan fast with a burrito . . .



Photo by Sean Prentiss

Black Mountain

by Sean Prentiss
What I Learn About the City
during the Pause between
Dusk & Dark
Some wilderness evenings when the moon is a sliver bowl pouring out its first drink of constellations



Photo by Seattle Municipal Archives / WikiCommons

Witness to a Rebirth

by Tom Leskiw
        I believe in rebirth because I’ve experienced it with all six of my senses. I’ve seen Chinook salmon return . . .



Photo by Christina Schmidt


by Jim Krosschell
        Every once in a while, say a couple of times a month, I approach the far end of my daily walk . . .


Golf Dreams

by Mel Livatino
        Forty years ago, in the midst of casual conversation, I asked a woman if she played golf. For answer she looked at me as if I were . . .



Photo by Bill Mackillop

So Much Sky

by Linda Mackillop
        The note appears hooked to the knob of my front door, a warning. The emerald ash borer disease has ravaged the hundred-year-old stately ash trees . . .


Photo by Heide Weidner


Hear, Hear

by Miriam Mandel Levi
        The graph of my hearing ability sloped like the neck of a giraffe. I’m a speech language pathologist and I’d seen enough audiograms in my career to know what that meant. I could hear . . .




Photo by Christina Schmidt


Night Fever

by Cindy Bradley
        Although I have little memory of it, I came down with scarlet fever when I was five. What I do remember are snatches of images: my year-younger brother sitting . . .





Photo by Christina Schmidt


by Alex M. Frankel
        I was twenty-three–a Columbia graduate, a proofreader in an accounting firm–leafing through the Atlantic in a dermatologist’s waiting room . . .



Photo by Christina Schmidt



by Joan Connor
        As I am aging I note that my memory is changing. No, I am not becoming more forgetful, rather I am remembering differently, compulsively; I am remembering more . . .





Photo by Christina Schmidt

Getting a Life

by Kirie Pedersen
        “Ted got Brenda,” my sister said. “What are you talking about?” Lisa is usually placid and calm. Now she sounded terrified. “Brenda who?” “Brenda Ball. Ted got her. They found her body . . .





Photo by John Nizalowski

The Carnival Journey

by John Nizalowski
        I could see it from my front yard, down there on the river bank where the land was flat and smooth and lined with cottonwoods. The Ferris Wheel, a great mandela . . .





Super Typhoon Haiyan, Philippines, 2013
Photo by NASA GSFC
Public Domain WikiCommons

Rubble and Rot

by Paul Warmbier
        We stood as small knots and discussed what should happen next. The night coolness descended on us like a blanket of moisture. Molecules of hydrogen and oxygen quilted together . . .





Photo by Sister Newspaper

All the White

by Emily Woodworth
        The Barista, Part I:
        The snow falling framed by the pitch black sky looks like static in an old television set. The tiny flakes turn iridescent . . .