Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

the fog had lifted from the back pasture, leaving the red maple leaves looking dry and brittle against the grey sky. Donald sat in the wicker chair in the sunroom, the unsigned power of attorney document resting on his knees. He had his wool tie in one hand, using the tip of it to polish his spectacles with slow, deliberate circles.

“Robert called,continue reading …