COUNTING DOWN THE STORM (Temporarily Unavailable) A Novella by D. Ryan Leask
For two days the storm has taken over the city, and two people's lives. A man convinces himself that his life is worthless when his lover leaves him for another man. Alone and depressed, he allows his life to sink into the bowels of civilization. When a wife and mother discovers that her husband is having an affair she abandons logic and gives in to the perilous abyss of jealousy and revenge.
Re-Launch Tentatively Scheduled for Oct 17th:
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Monday, January 28, 2008

End of Summer, New Beggining

A whisper of wind rustles through what is left of the Aspen and willow leaves, their vibrant colours fading, the few remaining bursts of orange melting into the harvest moon. In the distance giant green gods walk across the fields, bundling grass into little square tablets. Medicine for the hungry winter livestock.

The river, barely a trickle now, compared to the wild spring floods which covered this place but four months before, meanders lazily along it's banks, waiting for the first nights of frost to harden it's edges to the sleepiness of ice. This river doesn't freeze entirely. It force too great as it rolls from the steep mountains to the west. It can not hibernate until its water runs deep into the cold flat praries.

A lopsided V of geese honk overhead, looking for a place to rest on their long journeys to the warmer climates at the southern end of their travels. Every flock seems to pull the wintery veil southward, as the Robin brings the sun of spring.

A fire begins to crackle over the flood placed rocks. Driftwood carefully placed over twigs and paper, the smoke grows thinner as the flames rise. Small bits of ash drift up through the smoke as the paper disappears and the fire licks and ravages the small twigs placed on top of it.

A pop and a stir as the larger fuel shifts, filling in the holes left for them by the used up kindling. It is getting cold now, the fire seems to sense this as the flames grow larger, warming the air around them, seeming to becon all around it to come close, to resist their fear, but nothing moves. Nothing except the leaves, rustling and falling.

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