Arid Spring

I received notice yesterday that two more pieces of my writing were accepted by the slippery Elm Literary Journal. It was a Mother's Day present of sorts. Meanwhile, dust rolls across the arid fields as farmers work their ground. Last year it was too dry and this year too wet, but my dad always said that if he had to choose, he would take dry. This was my fourth Mother's Day with no mother but with the progression of time I see her more clearly each morning in the mirror.