Jan/Feb 2003

e c l e c t i c a  
s p o t l i g h t   a u t h o r



Jon Fried

Fiction: Troddy

(Click the title to view the story)

But I looked around me and saw trees younger and smaller who were taking it, and trees much older who'd been through the same or worse, and finally in April, one weekday, the sun shone all day without a single second behind a cloud, and I felt something go through me, very faintly, but unmistakably present: a glimmering, a twinge, as if a huge and glorious yawn was beginning to take hold of me, a yawn that would reach from root-tip to twig and last a delirious and sensual week or two.


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