Elk calf, first five minutes on four legs, the shimmy and wobble of her.
The undeniable inarguable adamant lurid smell of a smashed pumpkin.
Two basketball players helping up a fallen teammate, the braided grips.
The infant Vaux’s swift that rocketed out of the fireplace one evening.
The way my son after an argument later brushes my neck with his hand.

Articles by Brian Doyle

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