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I write more poetry and fiction than creative non-fiction, but this one sprung fully formed from my head after yet another uneasy encounter with the utility company.

Those encounters nearly always involve some sort of trauma, especially where I live, my property abutting a wooded area. My power lines running through a tangle of branches. My power pole the end of a long vulnerable line.

This piece is personal not just because it is based on a real event, my authentic response to it. This piece is personal because I likely would not have found *82 review if it wasn’t for my aunt, who has long ties to her printmaking colleague who runs the magazine. My aunt who suggested we might go to the 50th issue reading (which was wonderful). Since I write under a pen name, I got to surprise both her and her colleague with the reveal after the piece was accepted.

Please enjoy The Viburnum. Unlike a lot of what I’ve been writing lately, this one has a note of hope.