Redsand Canyon And I used to fly like Peter Pan, all the children flew when I touched their hands.

brought to you by me in a rain flooded yard at work

each day, he woke with a trickling nervousness. well. perhaps it was impatience? he grew eager to see children in their den, the milk scent of towhee didn't help any.

but today proved the same as many before it.

she was clearly pregnant, but no children yet. instead she seemed to have found some calming comfort in the rainstorm that swept through the canyon. and he returned to her with a gifted meal as usual.

this time it was a fish who had found advantage in the rain flooding banks, only to be scooped by a watchful maxim. he had grown accustom to this sort of ritual he had entered. it also made it leagues easier to wake her when he carried the wafting scent of a meal — and wet dog.