Beneath the Sleeping Giant, Horne Lake


To the left a sleeping giant rests, laying flush across the lake. He stares straight up into the stars, at once ambivalent and awed, still as a mountain.

To the right we congregate around the campfire, exchanging stories and staring deep into the darkness that surrounds us.

A crack sounds from the woods, a broken twig or crunched leaf.

A crackle springs from the fire, sparks flying into the night.

We are at peace.

Lynn Canyon, Compulsive Counting

lynn canyon

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

I always count the steps as I walk. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

I count all the way to the top as I place one foot down and then the other. Each step is deliberate, careful.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

My eyes flit back and forth, watching the steps while trying to take in the views. Trees, rocks, moss, I see everything that makes this beautiful. I see but do not fully appreciate.

My attention is still on the stairs, on each step bringing me up, up, up. (Or down, down, down.)

I have to count.