creative nonfiction

Beaver Lake

One morning, not so long ago, my husband and I walked together. We followed a muddy wisp of a trail along the river to a beaver pond, or lake, as it’s called, Beaver Lake. The sun shone in our eyes and made the frost on the trees glint. We were chilled at first but the…

The Wolf

I have never seen a wolf. Not in the wild. My dad did, once. Up north, as they say, in the Boundary Waters. We kids were all asleep in the tent when he woke to cook trout caught the night before. And to smoke cigarettes. Just him and the rocks and an early morning mist. …

The End of Summer

The day is hot. Hot, and I’m exhausted, and sluggish, and full of effort from the heat. So sluggish I say let’s drive to the river. All summer long I’ve insisted on walking, or biking, even carrying inner tubes, and life vests, and water, and food, and shoes, and towels, and pulling dogs on leashes. Now,…