FRONTeras Magazine Vol. 2 No. 1 Issue The colors by the water were bold, and the sun rays bounced off the water like glass.  There were waves of purple blended with pink and yellow along the horizon.  The bells were ringing loud.  Horacio was sweating. His heart was beating as he reeled in.  He remembered to layer his breathing between pulls.  He felt tired as he rotated his wrist to push the paddle forward, as he opened the bail arm, the spool spun loose, and the line ran.  

FRONTeras Magazine Vol. 1 No. 4 The walk seemed harder today. His knees ached. The air felt light, the leaves were changing color. The clouds were thick and the sun played peekaboo. He wore thicker socks with hiking boots. His foot itched as he walked and the skin pressed against the hard leather. He was carrying three rods today. He had envisioned where he would place them. While walking, he noticed a bird. It was black with clear brown eyes. It was fluttering on the ground

FRONTeras Magazine Vol. 1 No. 3 He sat alone on the hammock listening to the birds settle in. He slowly swayed with the breeze between the two pecan trees. He could hear the water flow through the hose into the orange tree. He was reading a newspaper. He was studying the moon phase. He had decided that the best shot at a catan was on a hot day with minimal moonlight. He wondered where he should set up tonight. He took a long sip of cold water. Drops fell on his stomach as he

FRONTeras Magazine Vol. 1 No. 2 The warmth of the room woke him up. He was laying on the couch, his skin moistened with sweat.  The afternoon was hot. He didn’t know how long he had slept. He could hear the birds singing seemingly in deep conversation, perhaps complaining about the heat.  The flies and bees were buzzing around the lakeside.  He sat up and reached around the side of the couch for his tackle.  His bait was on his mind.  He imagined the silver spoon swimming in

FRONTeras Magazine Vol 1. No. 1 Horacio went to the edge of the lake on the warm April evening as the sun was starting to tighten into the mountains. The walk down to the water was always therapeutic to him. He prayed and meditated with the sun. He played back moments of the line snag, the pull, and the setting of the hook in the stomach of the fish he could not see. He always left the house with the same hope of a fight, a catch. He was a simple man with rugged hands, strong