Short stories by Daniel Weiss for your reading pleasure.
Kiamichi Country
...Air shimmered off the asphalt and peagravel driveway. Patches of crab grass grew in short tufts through the stone. Clothes hung on drying lines from the house to a thick trunked Oak that cooled part of the house and yard and kept the white short tailed retriever, Lazy, cool. Behind the house, Black Eyed Susans, Gaillardia, and Meadow Rue stood as if fashioned by oil and thin brush on canvas.
To the Mountain
... The men from the government came often to us so I learned to listen for the footsteps at night, but then I learned to hear other things too, in the fields where I worked, to the bean plants and distant oceans I had never seen. I listened to the sounds of my mother crying. I didn’t know why she cried, but I knew why people cried. I knew why so I thought that those reasons were her reasons also.