From Issue 13 Nominated for Pushcart Prize, 2016 Can I share this happiness with you? Meat on a spit, a trashcan full of yellow rice, this Chiweenie takes a shit by its stroller. All I want is everything on
A collaboratively-written meditation on place from Issue 14, Juvenescence By ‘Waratah’ – Grade 5/6 South Arm Primary School, Australia In the dawn, you can hear birds as you’re waking. It’s so quiet you can hear the trees bristling together.
I’m too old for tree climbing, but it turns out being aloft is good for thinking and Kate wants me to think. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, though there’s still a bit of warmth in the sky
Pushcart Nomination from The Fourth River, Issue 13 After you’ve felled the tree and dragged it from the site and hauled it to the mill, one of the first things you do is scale it, measure to find out
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
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
Willie Wheeler My job’s to wake them up. 6 A.M dark, driving to the home for “intellectually disabled” youth— crystals of snow on windshield dissolve and are swept away: snow, glass, sweep—you could lose yourself in the steady
We were in the tall grasses creeping on finches when we seen mama run down the slope in her Sunday finest and throw herself in the creek. Papa stood there scratching at his hair like he was fixing a nest
From The Fourth River, Issue 11 Listen to Kate Belew read “Beheaded Deer, The Power Lines Near Brewster Lake” It was too late by the time the last sparks flew. I had already been tangled in the webs