Cemetary Stories

Listening In The Rain I'm a good listener; always have been. Especially here inside the cemetery—just sitting in my truck, listening to the rain, hearing it tell the story, and waiting for Holly. We don’t have nice winter weather around here, just cold and rainy. The only thing it’s good for is hunting, especially for deer. But I don't hunt—not anymore. Winter became my favorite season after meeting Holly. I’d been drivin...

I guess I am probably of the last generation that can remember when milk, eggs, bread, butter, and other dairy products were delivered. And, because of the war, our milkman in Darby (a suburb of Philadelphia, not Darby, England) used a horse and wagon. I can't remember the horse’s name, but I can recall my mother and the milkman allowing me to feed her carrots. And I never thought about it till just now, but since I said...