by Jamie Hogan
By the chill and the turn of the leaves and the fog around his heart he knew that this was the anniversary of his father's death. He stood and stared at the endless golden plain rolling away from him and his insides were simmering and he decided it best to be alone. His feet took him into the mountains. He sat on the prow of the promontory his father called tanka ihake, great end, and spoke his questions, but the only answer he received was that there were two skies - the one we look into with wonder and the one we ignore all around us. It was evening when he returned to camp and his son was stoking the fire with care, exactly the way he'd taught him, exactly the way his father had. Standing under pioneer stars and loving the icy brush of a northern breeze, he decided morning would be a good time to introduce the boy to his grandfather, and both skies.
Jamie Hogan is a writer, though his paying gig is Training Manager for a healthcare system. He lives in central North Carolina, and he's blessed with a wife and two wonderful boys.