The light/ Air by C.C. Russell

Arid end. The skies are what the ground wants to be. I remembered rain, your hair in that deluge. A cattle guard at the end of a dirt road. The clear air that we waited for. Hard ground and this place. Wyoming sky, a dust devil grows in the sunlight and spins itself out. This light, airborne and still. A pretended harbor. This pretense. Sky and the memory of falling rain in a day dry of its presence. No clouds were harmed for this film. The sky, left alone, absorbed all of this.

C.C. Russell lives in Wyoming with his wife and daughter. His writing has appeared in such places as Wyvern Lit, Rattle, Word Riot, The Cimarron Review, and The Colorado Review. He is a Pushcart prize nominee. In the past, he has also lived in New York and Ohio.