On Hiking In Northern Washington

A poem about escaping the city


If Ever the Grey-Cloaked Moon

It was a dark and stormy night—the kind, like war, that mitigated irascible deeds, covering murder with the tintinnabulations of rain on corrugated metal gables; and I, enswathed in my ignominious velvet cape, navigated our city's ever-slickening streets brandishing a penchant for justice. This little slice of purple prose was written for YeahWrite's microprose challenge. Click …


I had imagined pinks and vermillions, an impossible sunset contained within an industrial warehouse. I had heard the chitter of squirrels and felt spring breezes. But when I awoke to a thump, felt the vibrations through the floor of my Nomad cell, and saw the most beautiful open door I had ever seen, I knew …