Whispers and Echoes

The trail through the tall savanna grass wasn’t even a foot wide.  It was August, a time for wildflowers in the nearby prairie.  My camera was ready.

Up ahead was a field of yellow blossoms, but the trail faded in and out as the wind blew.  I stopped.  It was my first time here and I was alone.  I could get lost if I took those photos, but I wouldn’t be back.

I took the photos. That was not my smartest move.

Frank Hubeny spends his time between Miami Beach and Northbrook, Illinois.  He has appeared in The Lyric, Snakeskin and Ancient Paths Literary Magazine.  He regularly posts poetry, short fiction and photography to https://frankhubeny.blog.

Selected by the editor as a featured submission, January 2021.