SAND

By Craig Childs

The river lies in heaps, all of it turned to sand. No apparent life can be seen but for ripples and ribbons forming and dissolving in the wind. Sand glides several hundred feet up the steep north face of a dune, and about 400 feet up it threads around two small, dark circles. Hat brims, they both lie on the ground side by side like an improbable mishap, two unfortunate travelers drowned by the shifting earth. But there is life below, sunglasses glinting.

Buried up to my chin and lips, my eyes are open, gaping across a horizon of nothing but gentle crests. It looks carnal, naked figures spooned into each other, all shoulders and hips. Am I dreaming? I have been drifting in and out of sleep most of the day. Dream becomes waking, becomes dream again

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NONFICTION

Craig Childs--Sand
Nathaniel Miller--Ten Years of Stony Sleep
Mike Quist Kautz--Abandoned, and Range-Finding, Western Style
Chavan Kelly--Everything I Know About Red Canyon Red

FICTION

Brant Cebulla--Rushing to Meet the Dawn
Katherine E. Standefer--Stealthwalkers

POETRY

Jessica Babcock
Jeanine Stevens
Aleria Jensen
Matthew Kaler
Clark Chatlain
C.A. Dahl
Scott Jones
Melissa Mylchreest

PHOTO ESSAY

Bryce Andrews--Bones

PHOTOGRAPHY

Derek Kanwisher (Cover and others)
Monika Bilka
Danielle Chalfant
Bethann Garramon
Mike Lommler
Tyler C. Pedersen
Cathrine L. Walters

CONTRIBUTORS

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