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Scott MacLeod's avatar

Aldo leaned in for the kill, metaphorically. Speed dating made you work fast. “Describe myself in two words,” he read from the index card. “Carnivorous. Nocturnal.” He conjured the feral leer of a coyote. Francie had seen this movie before. “I’m hearing you’re a dishwasher. Night crew. Your shift meal is a patty melt. Next!”

Ding went the little bell.

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Jeannine's avatar

In the silent winter, I can't sleep. But when summer returns, the night air fills with the falsetto peeps and the bass chug-a-rums of frogs. The crickets chirp a rhythmic backdrop, and loons sing out their ghostly melodies. As Nature conducts her cacaphonic nocturne, my mind is lulled by lullaby, and I sleep deeply, dreaming of the woodlands.

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