This short short appeared in a SlingInk 2006 anthology called "Footprints."

           Heavy on reddened elbows leaning out the bed’s window, I forget yesterday and watch spotted cows nibble yellow-tipped grass in the neighboring pasture while a gauzy late-spring fog rolls over surrounding farmlands. Hay wheels checker barb-wired fields and the regal grey, mottled stallion gallops, tail high, nostrils flared. Hooves beat thick against the ground and pound in my chest. For morning’s first meal, swallows dive wide-mouthed catching gnats rising off the garden’s musty-sweet peony. Sun-diamonds glimmer wetly over a Neopolitan-ice-cream horizon and a blue day breaks.

My head drops weakly. He’s leaving – says it last night over mutton chop and okra snapping – in broken words, she’s… coming… back or something like it as ice-water trickles down along the crack of a frosty glass.