The Contradictite

Ivor Messing stood over the map of the world. His workers, minions, milled about in the back, moving this piece of equipment here, or that gizmo there. Ivor studied the map, a real-time geographical map depicting notable points of interest on the globe, a long-stemmed cigarette holder clutched in his mouth. Something glowed in the arctic. He squinted his eyes and wondered if that was where Yelena's ice palace was hidden. Based on the color of the dot, it was quite interesting indeed. Interesting to an evil genius who dabbled in global domination, someone quite a bit like Ivor. He smiled, puffing smoke from the nostrils of his pointed nose. "Sir?" someone said, derailing his mental maniacal machinations. He looked over. It was Manny "Southpaw" Sousa, his most loyal henchman. His glare of irritation went to a kinder look of friendly annoyance. "Yes?" he said. Manny held a manilla envelope in his left hand. Bits of snow still clung to its outside. He hand

[Author's Note: This was written for the 25th Annual Geauga Parks District Nature Writing Contest. It did not place. I'm sharing it here anyway, because I happen to like it.] “This here is a century tree,” said the chipmunk, patting the trunk next to him. “And boy has it withstood the passages of time. They don’t plant them like this anymore, I tell you.” Hazel looked up the tree. She held her bushy tail in her left paw and Walter’s paw in her other. “I don’t know,” she said. “You said the previous owners were owls?” The chipmunk chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “But they’re long gone. Left one great hollow, I tell you. And when you look out the hole, it’s like you’re looking at your own private park.” Hazel looked over to Walter. He took a moment before realizing that she was looking at him. “What?” he said. “Don’t you think,” she said, “that owls having lived here might be a concern?” Walter watched the leaves blowing in the breeze. “They don’t live here anymore, do they

[Author's Note: This was my entry for the Geauga Park District's 25th Annual Nature Writing Contest. It did not place at all. Still, I liked it, so here it is.] It comes clear, with no cut for perfection The introduction of a companion cut by selection: Cousin to Yggdrasil, or the rainforest in Brazil Cut half empty, and I’m left half full Of the shame for sharing the blame Of taking the same and making it plane: Lumber for houses and structures is the name of the game. Sure, we need shelter, else we’re helter skelter Without a roof over our heads, no walls. Then we’re dead. But when we replace a space of trees with inedible grass Our iconoclast finds its way to the head of its indelible class. Our world tree is whirled free, and no longer is my hurled plea Heard, not a word, and no branches are left to encircle me. So, put down the axe, and relax your backs, For I’m not cutting back, I’m cutting no slack, I’m coming to you here like Seuss’ Lorax. “I speak for