The zombies falter. Flesh becomes corrupt. Limbs are shed; animation a struggle.
Yet the fiends still pursue us. Onto our fields we stagger; new furrows disrupted by frantic feet.
Spades raised, we strike; the dead fall, cleaved into pieces. Good fertilizer, for our crop.
We live on, another winter assured.
Paul Lewthwaite, who hails from Scotland, hopes to start writing again after a ten-year hiatus.
He recognized it immediately by the drip of paint hidden behind the wheel of the 1940 red and yellow workhorse, the long gone first tractor of his boyhood.
Half a century and a handshake later, it was his again. How proud his father would’ve been to see it come home.
Judy McKinnon lives in Toronto, Ontario with her husband and two sons, whose talents and creativity constantly inspire her. She has worked in business journalism for nearly 20 years.