Gleanings by Naette L. Avery

Like the end of an autumn harvest when the ripened crops have been gathered and the gleanings are scattered along the corners of the fields for the poor, the shrouded dead lay cold before the creeping shade of the old cemetery gate. Its crumbling stone walls await the new arrivals as the tolling of the bells and the low agonizing wails of hungry dogs forewarn the survivors.

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The Trail From The Cabin To The Lake by W.C. Fleischman

The chair barely fit him anymore. The trail, which led from the cabin to the lake tempted him, but he waited until he heard the screen door to the cabin slap behind her. Across the lake, a fisherman’s small trolling motor sputtered and coughed. He steadied himself on his cane, and pried himself up. She came alongside and took his hand. She was ready but he was not so sure.

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