Navin brought the dragon to his lips and kissed her tiny nose. “It’s time,” he said.
The dragon nodded, unfolded her shimmering wings and launched. In ever widening circles, she exhaled over the frigid land.
Navin smiled as banks of white capitulated to a triumph of green and riotous color.
Mary Haynes splits her time between sailing in Florida and dirt-dwelling in Burlington, ON. She is currently writing short stories and plays.
Ice crystals reflect this afternoon’s sun onto my cozy chrysalis, casting shadows onto lavender crocus buds below. Bright marigold, crimson and azure shock my dark dull dreams. A gentle breeze caresses my wrinkled wet wings. Delirious and dizzy, my tongue uncoils reaching for sweet nectar, knowing that spring has sprung.
Dr. Jeffrey H. Toney has published scientific peer-reviewed articles, news media opinion pieces, and short fiction stories. Recently he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for his 100-word story “The Quiet Raspberry Wormhole,” published in Crack The Spine. He serves as Provost and Vice President for Academic Affairs at Kean University.
He flits between branches, his jaunty, upturned tail bobbing. I’ve seen him before, but never this close, and never singing fit to burst his tiny heart.
His head twitches left and right. Perhaps he’s just scared, but I need to believe it’s because he’s caught a sideways glimpse of spring.
Tamsin can’t sing or flit, but she’s definitely on the lookout for the end of winter.
“Call it in the air, ma’am.”
“Tails,” said Spring, lounging by the pool.
The groundhog caught the coin. “It’s heads, ma’am.”
“Best of three?” Spring asked.
“No,” said Winter, “and absolutely no more favors.”
“Not even a little one?”
“I’ll be at the bar,” said the groundhog. “Let me know.”
Iain Young asserts that no groundhogs were harmed in the writing of this story.
Winter aged me,
took away muscle tone
with each mound of snow
I stared at my flaccid arms and legs.
Surely they belonged to someone else,
my mother perhaps…
when she was ninety.
Then spring arrived
With its noisy insistent presence.
Too much growth –
I’m done with that.
Robin Lubatkin does circle time with the very young and what she calls “songhealing” with the very old.
That first, immaculate, unfurling leaf. It knocked her sideways every year, felled her with its soft, green promise.
So many dead months of waiting. Did the arms of the beech sprawl up in silent prayer? Did they cling to the same frail hope? Maybe… this time… spring would never end.
Tamsin is certainly very glad to have escaped another grey British winter.
She threw me out; she didn’t like my tastes.
Flung on the rubbish heap, I was enveloped in a dark depression. I felt dead. Earth to earth.
Turning things over, I spread myself around. I met someone new, with potential. We sowed the seed.
We’re expecting a tomato this spring.
Margaret has a garden in Buckinghamshire, UK. She is currently writing
her first full length novel, while being distracted by short stories, flash fiction and her blog about all things writing.
Ketcham Creek is cresting, so what’s one more tear I ask to God and to you.
I skip a stone across the rushing water, then a handful thrown in fury. I will pray for you, but mostly I will pray for him.
Tears and spring floods cleanse my broken heart.
Jeff Switt is a retired advertising agency guy who loves writing flash
fiction, some days to curb his angst, other days to fuel it. Check out his newest venture, A Story in Three Paragraphs.
Emergent leaves of yellow and green slowly unfurl. Upwards they reach, like the needy hands of a child. They whisper, never cry, for they only have the voice that the wind compassionately lends them. Nature, a generous mother, showers down upon her children the necessities of life, light and water.
Priscilla lives in Canada where spring arrives late and does not stay for long.
The farmer’s market was busy.
Fred’s eggs were famous. The bowl of them had a sign: “Aigs 25¢”.
Fred laughed it up with the townsfolk. They bought all his eggs because they liked their taste and Fred’s simple ways.
Fred liked finishing early. He could spend his afternoon reading Dostoyevsky.
Beth enjoys her time writing and eating poached eggs and toast.