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