rushing past him. He turned on his back, hands clawing at the walls. The green behemoth was thundering upon him, like a vibrating rail- road train with its ear-shattering noise. a giant oak tree. Round holes like the its huge body. It had no ears, nose, or shone as bright as the sun’s blinding hideous arms down toward Saul. Saul’s scream—and scream—and Then it stood above him, like suckers mouth, glare. mind on an octopus dotted but its large red eyes Slowly it reached its exploded; he began to scream. peacefully to sleep. . TAS — SILVER sun STEVEN CITY sweeps its heat ‘Upon a dust-white road. Brown boards and unhinged shutters Stutter in the alkali breeze While dust breezes tease the tumbleweeds Which roll down the rutted street. Decaying sidewalks of gnarled planks Line yellow-windowed stores. — “ GERALD CHADBURN ber Qusset Abie da us leaves on’t Mountain M About three hours later Saul regained consciousness. But instead of in a cold dark room, he awoke in a warm hospital bed. The brightness of the morning sun shining through the large side window in his room blinded him momentarily. As he lay there, he felt weak and dizzy. But he realized he was happy for the first time in many months. He had passed the hell of the cold turkey room; complete recovery wouldn’t be long now. Turning to one side, he yawned and stretched his arms. Then, after scratching his shaggy hair, he went Noonday ) Septem irnomed of Lag naevest pines in golden winds. drop spears Llue-silver -— JEANNE FALL . fields of green, lakes. ALLRED BEFORE SUMMER TAYLOR Trish looked down on the neighboring field and Mr. Harbison from her position halfway up the apple tree in her backyard. She could see the dirty white horse, straining thick hooves through the weeds, its flank rippling, flinching, from Mr. Harbison’s stick ... poor thing. She watched the harness slide back and forth on the white back, leaving glistening sweat marks. The harness straps pulled back to the hand plow that dug its blade through crumbling dirt with each jerk of Mr. Harbison’s body. Trish took her eyes off the horse, the plow, the man. She’d been watching them for a long time. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, tensing the already stiffened arms and legs that held their position with the silver green branches of the tree. Trish opened her eyes in the sunlit morning and relaxed her body until she was almost balancing in the crotches of the two branches where her feet were. Her head moved forward, and a leaf tickled under her chin. Trish took a deep breath of cold air, rich with the smell of fallen rotting apples. She tensed again at the sound of the quick grating voice, “Hua, hua.” She shifted to peer through the leaves at Mr. Harbison. She saw him yank hard on the reins. The horse snorted and stepped back. Trish loved the white horse and felt so sorry for him. She cringed when the stick whacked again. Mr. Harbison’s arms worked like cold machinery, Trish thought. His arms were metal joints inside a levi jacket, and his levi legs were stiff in the jerky steps. The thin shoulders hunched forward. Reins slapped the horse. “Giddup,” the voice croaked. Trish let go of the branch with her right hand. She pushed the shagged hair back from her face and rubbed her cheek with the palm of her hand. She watched the man’s rigid face. “And that’s ‘Old Man Harbison’,” she thought and swallowed hard. “It’s good I’m way up here in our apple tree away from him.” Trish wondered if he were really as mean as the neighborhood and his friends always kids said. Her older brother, said that “Old Man 7 Ted, Harbison” was the mean-