At first, I only hear it when I get up to pee at night, and it seems to come from the exhaust vent.
Author: Camille Armantrout
Camille lives with her soul mate Bob in the back woods of central North Carolina where she hikes, gardens, cooks, and writes.
The pictures on our bedroom wall each contain at least one memory—a captured spirit or ghost, if you will.
Probing my raison d’etre.
I wake in the bottom of an abyss, filtered blue light licking at the edges of the ice cliffs above.
It seems to her that humans have only one spring, one summer, one fall, and if they’re lucky — or not, depending on your perspective — one winter.