Excerpt from “LUNEROS” … On a desolate stretch of road, down from Big Bend National Park, an old pickup truck, its headlights burning dim, maneuvered the dips and turns along the Rio Grande. Twenty-four year old Javier Montejo glanced at the steady red light on the dash regretting their late departure. A road sign at the bottom of a hill gave him little comfort. Del Rio was still ninety miles away. His watch read midnight.
“This is a hell of a place for car-trouble,” Teresa Navarro said eyeing her boyfriend of two years and shifting in her seat with more than a little anger, “and not a living soul in sight.”

“Not to worry, Teresa. This old truck isn’t going to leave us.” Javier glanced at the red light again and lines formed on his forehead. He listened for engine noise.

Beyond a rise, the road stretched straight for half-a-mile through the arid mountainous terrain. Glancing over his left shoulder another night-light caught Javier’s eye. This one was moving. It caused him to forget the red light on the dashboard. Maybe an isolated thunder-cloud going through the humps of the mountains, he thought. He couldn’t gage the distance. Faint lightning flashes trembled on its edges. Javier touched Teresa on the arm and gestured toward it. It was a large shape moving at crawl speed. He cleared his throat when he realized the object was undulating slowly, like a flag in the wind.

“The shape of it—I don’t think it’s a cloud,” he said with growing curiosity. “It’s coming this way.”

Teresa leaned toward Javier and peered at it through the windshield. “It’s a square light, Javier … it’s pulsing.”

“Yeah …” he eased his foot off the accelerator then shouted: “Here it comes!” The pulsing square-light passed directly overhead splashing white and blue lights and illuminating the night over a wide area. The object dissipated as it passed over the truck leaving only a ghostly square image in the sky.

“Where did it go?” Teresa shouted.

A sudden gust of cold wind filled the cab and the two hurriedly rolled-up the windows. Small chunks of ice began pelting the truck and covering the windshield, blinding them. Javier felt the truck losing traction. They were out of control. The rear fender hit a barrier and crunched to a stop. After another minute, the ice stopped falling.

“I don’t believe it!” Teresa said tugging at Javier’s arm.

“Strange,” Javier said looking up at the sky. All he saw were stars and a big full moon. The night was clear and he could feel the warm air returning. No, it’s not strange, he thought, it’s weird.


Excerpt from: “A CHORUS OF FROGS” … Two days later at the funeral, the sun blazed hot on Leonor’s face and arms. She felt perspiration beads trickling on her forehead and neck and down her back. It soaked her white blouse. Her jeans were damp and uncomfortable against her skin. She felt faint.

From the gravesite, her eye caught a lone frog splashing into one of the muddy puddles that dotted the dry riverbed below the graves. She reached for a handkerchief from her back-pocket and, as if possessed, stepped away from her mother and the mourners and walked toward the river channel. Only Santiago turned to see her leave.

Reaching into the mud puddle to dampen the handkerchief, she spooked the same frog. It leaped out and landed on a dead clump of reeds at the bank’s edge. Fascinated, she stared at it. The frog was long with a shiny lime-green coat. It eyes were large with a thick red-lining. At their center, big dark pupils stared back at her. Leonor smiled—it was life. The frog was sitting on a stalk and partly on a dry sprout holding on with peculiar suction-cup hands. She remained riveted for a moment longer before walking away.

Closing her eyes, she dabbed her forehead and arms with the damp handkerchief. A smear of mud remained on her face, but she felt refreshed and cool. Santiago, recovering from his ordeal in the desert, took the handkerchief and wiped the mud streak from her face—then held her hand.

Leonor looked back at the barren ground that baked in the broiling sun and at the devastation that the land had become. The soil was loose and without plant cover. A sun-devil danced across the tan-colored landscape. It blew more of the top-soil away in a whirling cloud.
She stood pensive and looked at the two piles of rocks that marked the graves. She wondered how much longer they could feed themselves. How much longer they could survive. But there would be no relief today. Today was just another hot searing day in Ruidosa, Texas—without any hope of rain.