The Last Butterfly of Summer

Against the worn black leather jacket that he insists has “street cred,” his grandfather’s rifle is a branch of rich brown wood matching the forest around him.  His friend let him out of the old Ford at Hayden’s Ruff this morning and he planned to meet up with his dad and little brother this afternoon but he’s missed the pickup point somehow.  He hasn’t seen a

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Birds not of a Feather

They halted our demolition of a building temporarily–two fledglings huddled in a mud and grass nest. But, when the mother hadn’t returned by the next day and the babies were peeping furiously, I was elected to raise them. Actually, the rest of my husband’s family humored me. In this heat, without a mother, they considered the two birds dead meat

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