Madrid Iowa Orchard Owners Stand Against a Counterfeit Prophecy for Two Thousand Twenty Six

his handwriting neat and precise. Marcus’s clumsy imitation of those letters looked like a child’s drawing next to the real thing.

I walked to the front door, my coat still on, and stepped out onto the porch to look at the road.

The twilight was turning to a deep, bruised purple over the ridges, and the rows of apple trees looked like silent sentinels continue reading …