Good stories are hard to find, but even harder to write. Here’s one. You are welcome.
The path we’d spent the pre morning darkness looking for wound up the side of a mountain neither of us had been to in years. Leaves crunched under my feet as we walked over fallen tree limbs in the half light of morning. I yawned, breaking the relative silence and said, “They closed it off right after you left.”
My brother didn’t turn around but he slowed his walking and gave me an exaggerated nod, then pointed ahead and told me that he knew it was just up the trail. “What trail?” I asked, knowing he was wrong. The path we were looking for opened up close to a crumbling indian burial mound, and from the marker we’d passed before leaving the beaten path, I knew we were at least three miles from it. Deep in the woods, and far away from any road, I breathed in a silence that…
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