From the author: A woman takes her place among the matriarchs of her family.
Charcoaled cottonwood trees towered over her. The sweet aroma of her great-grandmother’s lilac bushes embraced her while God flipped on the stars’ lights one by one. When she was young and all-knowing, she’d complained to her mother of the lack of street lamps in the country. Now she leaned back in her mother’s rocker, rattling the ice in her amber glass as she finished off her grandmother’s recipe: one part orange juice and nine parts vodka. She’d finally exchanged omniscience for wisdom, making peace with nature’s shadowy silhouettes, but her mother was too long gone to celebrate with her.
This story originally appeared in The Congress of Rough Writers: Flash Fiction Anthology Vol. 1.