Rehashing old stories to get my juices flowing for new ones.
Harlow looked up from his cooking fire as a flock of Canadian geese ascended from the lake. Their honking a cacophony, their wing beats a testimony to chaos theory before their patterns merged and they became a single instrument, wings beating in unison as they stretched into their familiar V pattern. He had heard them come in late at night, after the frogs had ceased their singing, but before the coyotes began their mournful wails. Harlow stirred the beans in his pot. In truth, he had been eating nothing but beans and rice for the past two months. He didn’t mind. Food was food.
The sun was just begining to brighten the sky. This was the best part of the day, Harlow thought. The coyotes were winding down, the air was crisp and cold. In fact, it was difficult to sleep through the chill of the early morning so he…
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