Arthur pen drawing of hidden animals decided who kept the lake cabin

shed, my boots crunching on the frozen ground.

The split logs of red oak were stacked high, dry and ready for the stove.

I gathered five heavy logs in the crook of my left arm, the rough bark catching on the wool of my sleeve.

As I bent down to pick up a handful of dry pine kindling, the first flake of snow touched the back of my hand.

It was small and continue reading …