It hurried through the weeds, leaving a wake of uprooted plants. Last week I saw it scurrying through Dad’s old tools. In the spring, it briefly appeared as I planted the beans, but today it couldn’t escape. I lifted it out of the pumpkins and examined it in the sun. It was dirty; its hide well tanned, covered with scrapes. Dark patches and the blue-green tracks of veins showed through the dirt. Turning it over, I paused at the paler…..
“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.” – Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories ‘Tis hard to believe that it has been two months since I embarked on my latest endeavor…..
It was October 11, 1968, and in the little town of Dubois, Catherine stood by the window. Every morning for weeks, she had stood by that window and watched the southern Indiana sky. Today, it was different. Today, storm clouds darkened the western sky. Catherine smiled, surely they would get some rain. It had been a long dry spell, although not as bad as in ’53. This year there had been some rain, but not nearly enough. Under Catherine’s garage,…..
With a boom that shook the walls and rattled the windows, he slammed the door. The boy stomped into the room and flopped on the couch. Grandpa shook his head and sidled over. “What’s up?” he asked, taking a seat beside the boy. The boy sighed, “It’s my research assignment; it’s too big. I’ll never get it done!” “Why not?” With a teenage eye roll, the boy tried to explain; there were too many references, too many quotes, and too…..