Sticky Season

An entry by Baba Manzana about Sticky Season: 

Dark clouds spill acorn sized rain plops and the air is hot and close like dragons breath. Skies bellow and us villagers shelter from loud rain and bright flashes that can splinter the trees. Puddles collect in otherwise dry paths, our river swells and rises. Cisterns and wells overflow and water wheels spin happily, much grain is floured. Boats flow swiftly and our village turns deep green and shoots tall leaves high above our heads. Growing fruits drink their fill and roots are plumped. Warm wind pushes the wet grasses into flowing rivers of green and yellow and buds pop open. Soon the hottest heat will arrive and those swimming holes will be our guardians until the coolness arrives.

Big Grubs

“Yer getting sooo big,” he giggled and marveled, as the plump and glossy grub happily noshed on a handful of offered roots. Between the crispy crunching of hungry mandibles the tiny jabber of ant-speak skipped over the soil and wound its way through warm grasses and around Tickseed’s mud covered feet. Every morning he made his way out to the pastures to check on his bugs, give them a scratch or pat to jump start the sunshine, before making his way into the seedling fields to see what damage, if any, the greedy birds had brought with their constant snacking.

Anyone Home?

“Hello?” They stood at the edge of the entrance, Nettlehoney stretched their matchstick torch further inside. The snow fell in patters and fizzles around them lining the gray oak branches with thick mounds of cold glistening fluff. Miminy clicked once, poignantly, and his nose wiggled at the darkness. Still and quiet, nothing clicked back. “It seems empty,” whispered Nettlehoney, and the squirrel clicked again. “Let's get inside,” and their boots scraped against the edge of the old worn hole high up in the tree trunk. Miminy took one more look around, scanning carefully, almost tediously, and skittered after their companion.