Balón
by JL Bogenschneider

I was in a balloon with Jeannie and Miguel when they told me they were in love and planned to marry.

“Each other?” I said, aghast.

“Of course,” said Miguel.

The Father Tree by JL Bogenschneider It grew from a sapling seeded by the wind. During the in-between times it weathered and oversaw many beginnings, conclusions and durations. By the end it was dendriticoprecisely five thousand one-hundred and thirty-three years old. Planted and entrenched by rain in a porous soil. Not that it was aware of these things. +/- a few days here and there. The youngest amongst a sea of already-veterans.