“…knowing their guns were not loaded…”

Dense fog shrouded the doe trail. The air smelled thick, humid, and almost sweet, like drying corn. Water pattered down from tall oaks and short witch hazel bushes. Elk moccasins splashed the night before’s raindrops that clung to sparse, pale-green blades of prairie grass. The course progressed right, then uphill. Thread-bare, rust-colored silk ribbons hand-stitched… Continue reading “…knowing their guns were not loaded…”

Correcting an Oversight

Dew splashed. Prairie grass swished against buckskin leggins, damping the grimy leather. Elk moccasins veered east four paces, stopped, then turned about. A thick, chilly fog hung over the swale hole on that late-October morn in the Year of our Lord, 1798. The air smelled wet, laced with wild mint and a sweet hint of… Continue reading Correcting an Oversight

Sometimes Progress Appears Slow

Chocolate cake sounded good for breakfast. A half piece seemed sufficient, followed by a few plump, fresh strawberries. The cake is a week old, nursed along in “halves” and “quarters” and a few “slivers.” I ate this breakfast with a salad fork, one bite at a time, right out of the cake dish, but please… Continue reading Sometimes Progress Appears Slow