When we were finished, we stepped back and leaned against the black- dusted SUV in the driveway. Grains of wet dirt slicked our arms up to our elbows, sweat freckled our reddening skin, and the nebula imprint of the sidewalk dotted the skin of my knees. I asked her what she thought as we stood in the late June sun, thick chunks of ice marbling in my cup. The new black border lined the area where fresh midnight dark mulch clumped, and three orange marigolds, their blooms like crayon suns, stood in a line. All she said was, “it won’t always be this way,” and under the cloudless sky, the weeds whispered to each other in their own language, reaching their thin fingers into the dirt for something to touch. — DEVON NEAL
Devon Neal (he/him) is a Bardstown, Kentucky, resident who received a B.A. in Creative Writing from Eastern Kentucky University and an MBA from The University of the Cumberlands. He currently works as a Human Resources Manager in Louisville. His work has been featured in Moss Puppy Magazine, Dead Peasant, Paddler Press, MIDLVLMAG, and others.