woodyevans
She pushed the rake at the bed of wet leaves, shuffling for pecans. Some were wormy now, but those'd be good for the pigs.
Back onto the riding lawn mower. Back up the frost-topped hill to home.
Them dripping steps, them mushrooms. I stepped over the boxes, the flood. Here: her ceramic cat.
Was a lot of amber prairie out there. He rode down into a loamy draw and slept.