By Sarah Ann Winn One of five reservoirs. Not a lake, but my lake, Hower Lake. Islanded, my land grown by dredging, then, once the depths were scoured, raising water levels, lowering. Shores once submerged, emerged, every year differently
By Austin Anderson snow along the top of fences breaking sun on cinder blocks at dawn there is no ponderosa no tamarack stone molded cement walls & patio three stem wild rose dead & hanging on bamboo pole
from The Fourth River, issue 13 The oldest known wild bird in the world, an albatross, is 64 and right about now—late November—she’s probably gliding over a mutable line in the North Pacific, a transition zone where cold water
By Juleigh Howard-Hobson Clouds, thick with black middles and grey edges That spread out to almost white where the sun Tries to break through…but can’t, of course. No wedges Of light may push their way through. It’s not done
This essay also appears in The Fourth River Issue O.3 as part of the Melanie Brown Tribute When we moved into our house, our neighbor, who lived beside us, brought us a pie. It was a kind gesture.
From The Fourth River, Issue 11 ** Lola Haskins’ essays have appeared in Visions of Florida and Wild Heart of Florida, both from the University Press of Florida. She has been on the executive committee of Florida
By Robert Anthony Siegel 1. At sunset, the heat lifts. In the plaza in front of the supermarket, lines of women dance to the music of a boom box, everyone in unison. 2. Motor scooters zipping by, the girl