Snowshoes whisper through reed canary grass, and wolves howl on the far side of the meadow on this northern Minnesota night. The full moon–some say it’s a blue moon–illuminates the snowscape. Bare oak branch shadows seem to dance as trees crack in protest to the 30 below temps. The new year starts with such promise.
Background
Eight years now I’ve been retired. For thirty years, while working, stories from my youth haunted me—everybody who’s been to war has stories, I’ve listened to thousands from the old men who fought in the Good War—and I came to realize that I had to tell mine before I joined those old men. Dawn walks …