The Baffling
It came from outside her range of vision,from the grey shaped mixture in early eveningat the edge between apparition and dream,thinner than dry grass reducedto ash, than strings guiding each individualbean plant in their rows, her soft nose drawing innight air in search of the final small mercies of autumnshoots. She could see dew beginning to settleon bowing beard grass, then relief rippled through herchest as she began to tramplea fine bed between several cedars,a wedge of ground to hide her softnessfrom all the terrors of a world beyondher sense of smell or sight, of baffling quickmoments striking her body from afar. [End Page 112]
M. Daniel McCrotty lives in Knoxville, Tennessee. He enjoys collecting Appalachian poetry, fly fishing local rivers, and spending time with his wife. His work has previously appeared in Still: The Journal, Jelly Bucket, and Foothill Journal, among others.
