In the days before we cut our hay I remembered how I used to run into our hayfields and flop down looking at the clouds and hay towering over me….
CHAPTER ONE January, 1983. Coeymans, New York Janice Westfahl saw rather than heard pop, pop, pop, a stitching of pops going off, small puffs of smoke. The rock wall crumpled,…
DAY OF THE DEAD I watch the earth boil and break bright green pushing up row upon row, an army risen to stand at attention until its cut. Wheat shoots…