Castor Mound

Jeff Streeby

St. Hubert’s Day
and through frost smoke rising from the creek
a waxing moon

Sunset. Light leaching from a freezing sky. A clear night falling. East, the cold glitter of evening stars, but west beyond the lake, twilight burning out in colors of honey, wood violets and blue vervain.

Right about now that 80 lb. super blanket I spotted last week will be working the castor set just upstream from the den. The chin stick will make him drop a front foot squarely between the jaws of a #4. Tomorrow morning, as sure as I’m standing here, he’ll be at the bottom of the drowning rod. If he’s as big as I think he is, he’ll go at least 70 inches. As long as he isn’t all scarred up, he’ll maybe rate “Select”.

Venus. The Milky Way. The order of things.

The Beaver Moon
At perigee,
biggest and brightest of a lifetime

Jeff Streeby is a Pushcart Prize nominee and a nominee for Sundress Press’ Best of the Web Anthology. His haibun “El Paso: July” was selected by Robert Olen Butler for inclusion in The Best Small Fictions 2015 (Queen’s Ferry Press). His new collection An Atlas of the Interior: Small Narratives and Lyrics will be published by Hyperborea Publishing in December 2016. He is a Senior Lecturer in English at Assumption University of Thailand in Bangkok.


  1. Venus and the Beaver Moon lead to naked howling on cold desert plains.

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