Bio Note: I am a retired reference librarian. I have moved many times, living in places as distant and diverse as New Jersey and Okinawa. I now live in State College, Pennsylvania, where I write poetry and short fiction in the stimulating environment of a university town.
I hadn’t seen my cousin Bill since his heart attack, but we spoke on the phone one day, and when I heard his deep resonant voice I told him, “You sound just like your father.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he returned the compliment, saying, “You sound like your mother.”
The place was overrun with starlings – pesky, dirty, noisy things. Time to discourage them, get them to leave. One way or another. Will sat at the third-floor window with his pellet gun, waiting. A starling settled on a branch of the old Red Maple, at just the right height. One shot, and down it plummeted, but before it reached the ground, a hawk, keen-eyed and quick, swooped in and carried it off without even saying “Thanks for the lunch, Will.”
©2022 Robina Rader
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