Short Stories

t is too dark now to attempt another set-up. Slowly, I lower the Browning and unload three unspent shells from the chamber and magazine. A full moon is beginning to slide over the eastern horizon. The air temperature has fallen dramatically. A bit stiff and awkward, I gather my gear and myself, and begin to move toward high ground where the truck is parked. It was a beautiful afternoon, but I would welcome a warm fire and a cognac about now, and a family - a son to share my stories. Maybe there is still time. If there is, then I will someday take him to a cornfield and tell him about Family - geese and Mallards - an old home place made with river stones - and of lessons learned.