Summer’s End

A squirrel scurried beneath the branches of the oak tree, foraging for the last acorn. The squirrels seemed unusually active this fall, portending, according to the wisdom of a local farmer, a cold winter. Next to the tennis court the patch of sunflowers stood forlorn, their color faded, petals flaking off in the breeze. It…

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Time to Fly

I have occasionally pondered who was happier, the swallows who observed their hatchlings leave the garage or the farmer who could restore the bespotted Model T to its prestige antique form. But, one season, on the day of departure the mother barn swallow encountered a dilemma—call it the case of the reluctant baby. At a…

barnswallows

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