Father–Son Memories

A bite in the April air caused me to snuggle deeper in my camo shirt. I struggled to sit still as I gazed down through the woods, looking for that fist-sized red head to come bobbing up the hill or…

I flinched sharply when the old, 12-gauge Stevens roared out in the October morning.  A cloud of smoke hung lazily in the air, filling my nose with the sweet smell of gunpowder.  Craning my neck, I searched for the gray…