Settlement

For several days they followed a river. There were fish in the stream and speckled stones. Hens pecked along the banks, swallowing grasshoppers from stems of alfalfa and hotgrass. Bullfrogs croaked and fireflies popped dizzy in spats. The water ran thick and dark and all night they walked into a warm headwind. Green light gleamed within the riverbed and underwater thermal vents bubbled liquid glass. Suzanne’s feet felt heavy. Pieces of sleep came in snatches to her open eyes. The frogs growled, grass stroked her arms. Brothers at shufflestep march. 

A bind of wood drifted by in the current, tiers of dyed cloth. 

Suzanne twisted the straps on her pack. John Karl yawned. They stopped moving and stood in the thickwrist air, beat of blood and cicadas, blooms of calendula. Someone sat down and then they were all sitting down, sprawling off in the grassy loam, chins dipped, nodding out to the watertock, fish breath and bulrush, the peaceful larceny of all summer in a day.