Insect Contestation: The Impact of Deforestation on the Stability of the Mauve Tree Ecosystem_The Di
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Insect Contestation: The Impact of Deforestation on the Stability of the Mauve Tree Ecosystem
You wouldn't know just by looking at me that I did a Masters at university. I don't think it's particularly on-brand for a Master’s Graduate to spend all her time on Instagram and pop a mini bottle of champagne at eleven o'clock in the morning. Whatever, it's a Sunday, and I know how loud Sundays are in this house.There's a small National Park about two hours away from where I live. It's not a popular destination for hikers because the path is narrow and rocky and in summer, buwww.onedoor.ccgs fly into your collar and spiders trap you in their webs. I did the research for my Masters there. I think my paper ...
The Difference a Life Makes
Raining, not unusual here in this time, not the time I’m used to, in my backlogged memories of January. Being from a place where you live unwound, spinning, bumping into seasons, their offerings hard to forget. Frozen fingers, icicled eyelids, the crack of the cold smashing into the trees, the shrieking as their blood expands, exploding gun shots in the dark of thirty below. Why remain within the grasp of what could kill you; did murder some, but always forgave those who kept the faith. Easter, spring, daffodils peaking through the snow to bless the survivors, allowing them to breathe again. ...
Favorite Animals
“Hey, Daddy?”“Yeah, buddy?”“Are we almost at the cementry?”“Cemetery. We’ll be there soon, I hope. There’s just a lot of traffic.”“I don’t want to go there. I'm not ready.”“…”“Because it’s going to be too sad.”“I know, buddy. I don’t want to go either. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do and that make us sad.”“…”“…”"..."“Hey, Daddy?”“Yeah, buddy?”“Can you look at me for a second?”“Not right now. I’m trying to merge.”“What’s merge mean?”“I’m trying to get over.”“…”“You gonna’ let me in? No? Thanks a lot, guy.”“…”“…”“Hey, Daddy?”“...”“What’s your favorite animal?”“I don’t know...
Costigan Hill
Ronald Hope stood outside the crematorium on the fringes of the gathered family. It was a cold, bitter day, the sky matt grey, the chill wind blowing from the north-east. His breath came out like so much smoke from a chimney. Just like Ted’s breath had always been, Ron recalled. All those cigarettes got you in the end, didn’t they. He stamped his feet, rubbed his hands against his arms. The problem with funerals were they expected a certain level of decorum. His good black shoes couldn’t take his thick, warm socks, his good black coat did nothing against the wind. But it was dry at least, and...