EDITOR'S NOTE FOR ISSUE 17: NATURE
In the words of Khalil Gibran, "Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."
Nature, that most marvelous creation of all, that comfort and balancing place, that touchable miracle that brings us back to reality and grounds us in truth. For the first time in many issues, I've awarded an Editor's Choice distinction to one of our authors, Juanita Smart. You can read her singular selection here.
A brief look at why we chose the other eight pieces can be found below. We sincerely hope you enjoy this issue in its fullness.
Virginia Boudreau’s “Green Dory” was special to me for at least two reasons: 1) a family member is struggling with severe health issues, and both of my parents passed away in the past few years, and 2) Dory is my sister’s name. But more importantly, this piece of nonfiction was unique in its presentation, and beautiful to read and reread. It’s short and poignant, drawn impeccably, a joy. We’re so glad Virginia shared this one with us.
“Their position is the relevance,” and “A fight between a small burst of wings and the slow swim of ancient legs.” A beginning and an ending of an incredible prose poem, “The Turtle and the Geese,” by Timothy Duffy. A must read, and oh so easy to reread and reread and reread, to capture all the intent, all the beauty, to set yourself at river’s edge watching the turtle and the geese.
David Green’s “The Day After” prose poem captures nature from a canoe or johnboat, another look at a river, that unparalleled creation, not a lake or a sea or an ocean, but a winding slice of dreamy comfort, the birds and the bees, the after-rest. Do take a look at this one too.
The older man in Steven Jakobi’s “A Snowy Afternoon” remembers, is cast back, and so finds comfort in yet another journey among the pines. A fine, lovely, prose poem.
While visiting my parents in Arizona, I would often hike the desert hills, and once accidentally disturbed a Bighorn Sheep that was lazing under a desert shrub. It jumped up and bounded up the steeps as if floating on air. I was reminded of that while reading Jayne Marek’s “Mountain Ibex,” an apt and beautifully portrayed look at another of our majestic animals in this amazing world.
Our second piece of creative nonfiction, Michelle Nicolaysen’s “All That We Don’t Control,” takes us through several phases of life on a Wyoming sheep ranch. Each section flows seamlessly into the next, each an honest and engaging look at the multitude realities of this incredible experience.
The lovely description in Mandira Pattnaik’s “What Do I Tell You, Sundarban Bagh?” is what especially impressed both myself and our reader. There’s the “Lord of the mangroves” and “unrepentant tigress,” just in the first line, and so much more of the same as you read through this engaging piece of fiction. I believe this was the first accepted piece of the hundreds we received for this issue. Do take time to read it; be immersed in this Indian tale of jungle creature intrigue.
Sarah Seidel’s “Were There Years Enough” is another prose poem of woods, ocean, and desert, and the two who “bent down in wonder, children who have yet to name the world.” Thoughtful, lovely.
EDITOR’S CHOICE: Our final selection was the first prose poem we took. It’s everything a prose poem should be: lyrical and word-whisking and question-inducing, stumbling upon itself to make the reader stop and reread, a beautiful mix of uniqueness and wonder, a sheer delight. There's a fine line between this type of writing and writing I call Dr. Seuss writing: confusing and nonsensical. Juanita Smart walked that line brilliantly. “When I ignite into the clearing” is worth your read, and worthy of study.
I'm incredibly thankful for the many submissions sent to us during this reading period. You honor us with your trust and our goal is to always make good on that. Next reading period to be announced in the days ahead.
Kindly,
Chila & team
A brief look at why we chose the other eight pieces can be found below. We sincerely hope you enjoy this issue in its fullness.
Virginia Boudreau’s “Green Dory” was special to me for at least two reasons: 1) a family member is struggling with severe health issues, and both of my parents passed away in the past few years, and 2) Dory is my sister’s name. But more importantly, this piece of nonfiction was unique in its presentation, and beautiful to read and reread. It’s short and poignant, drawn impeccably, a joy. We’re so glad Virginia shared this one with us.
“Their position is the relevance,” and “A fight between a small burst of wings and the slow swim of ancient legs.” A beginning and an ending of an incredible prose poem, “The Turtle and the Geese,” by Timothy Duffy. A must read, and oh so easy to reread and reread and reread, to capture all the intent, all the beauty, to set yourself at river’s edge watching the turtle and the geese.
David Green’s “The Day After” prose poem captures nature from a canoe or johnboat, another look at a river, that unparalleled creation, not a lake or a sea or an ocean, but a winding slice of dreamy comfort, the birds and the bees, the after-rest. Do take a look at this one too.
The older man in Steven Jakobi’s “A Snowy Afternoon” remembers, is cast back, and so finds comfort in yet another journey among the pines. A fine, lovely, prose poem.
While visiting my parents in Arizona, I would often hike the desert hills, and once accidentally disturbed a Bighorn Sheep that was lazing under a desert shrub. It jumped up and bounded up the steeps as if floating on air. I was reminded of that while reading Jayne Marek’s “Mountain Ibex,” an apt and beautifully portrayed look at another of our majestic animals in this amazing world.
Our second piece of creative nonfiction, Michelle Nicolaysen’s “All That We Don’t Control,” takes us through several phases of life on a Wyoming sheep ranch. Each section flows seamlessly into the next, each an honest and engaging look at the multitude realities of this incredible experience.
The lovely description in Mandira Pattnaik’s “What Do I Tell You, Sundarban Bagh?” is what especially impressed both myself and our reader. There’s the “Lord of the mangroves” and “unrepentant tigress,” just in the first line, and so much more of the same as you read through this engaging piece of fiction. I believe this was the first accepted piece of the hundreds we received for this issue. Do take time to read it; be immersed in this Indian tale of jungle creature intrigue.
Sarah Seidel’s “Were There Years Enough” is another prose poem of woods, ocean, and desert, and the two who “bent down in wonder, children who have yet to name the world.” Thoughtful, lovely.
EDITOR’S CHOICE: Our final selection was the first prose poem we took. It’s everything a prose poem should be: lyrical and word-whisking and question-inducing, stumbling upon itself to make the reader stop and reread, a beautiful mix of uniqueness and wonder, a sheer delight. There's a fine line between this type of writing and writing I call Dr. Seuss writing: confusing and nonsensical. Juanita Smart walked that line brilliantly. “When I ignite into the clearing” is worth your read, and worthy of study.
I'm incredibly thankful for the many submissions sent to us during this reading period. You honor us with your trust and our goal is to always make good on that. Next reading period to be announced in the days ahead.
Kindly,
Chila & team
