C. L. Sidell

The dreams begin with Dixie’s first menstrual cycle:  Thick trees with spidery limbs overhanging an almost-rotted boardwalk; moss-like fog giving everything a bluish-grey complexion; a muddy bed on both sides, sizable enough to serve as a reptilian’s den; a lullaby of chorusing crickets…  And then:  The planks dissolving into a body of water; air hot…