The Melt
Beth Downing Beth Downing

The Melt

Sitting in my backyard, the snow mounds crackle as they disintegrate into the solar-heated concrete of the patio. This noise can be heard even over the roar of the nearby interstate. Water is louder than an engine on this bluebird afternoon.

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Pictured
Beth Downing Beth Downing

Pictured

The owl stitched us together: sitting on the shoulder of a child and being haltingly put together on a table on a humid afternoon in the flat city of my childhood.

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Avalanche Lilies
Beth Downing Beth Downing

Avalanche Lilies

Why does a flower have more meaning when we know its name? As if identification confers value. As if possession is knowing.

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Two Hour Line
Beth Downing Beth Downing

Two Hour Line

I wouldn’t have given this roadside a second’s worth of glance in any other circumstance. But now, I was climbing over the guardrail to get a closer view of the river right next to us.

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