The Trackers

by Charles Frazier

MID-AFTERNOON, MAY, UNDER AN EMPTY HIGH-ALTITUDE sky, cool but the sun blazing like it yearned to cinder you,

A cozy two-chair breakfast table sat by the window, and that, together with the great bed, were as sad as checking in to the bridal suite when you’re traveling alone.

Humidity thickened the longer I walked, as if the air was in process of becoming gelatin.

With creative work, surely doubt and disappointment are inevitable. If you have ambitions, the thing you create will always fall short of what you intended.