G-Men Pride – We Wear It Still

  We came from Across the Tracks and Between the Bridges.  Places with names like Springville, Falls Mills, Sedgewood, West Graham and Pine Hill Park.  We came from in town and out in the country and we gathered at the Double Gates.  Why?  To become men.  To become G-Men. The day the dream began.  Some …

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Sergeant Riley’s Absence

Windswept leaves dance across the Wild Meadow Cemetery in a random swirl and suddenly all is calm.   Perhaps the end was that sudden nearly seventy-two years ago when Sergeant Mark Herman Riley breathed his last breath on a battlefield in New Guinea.    It was July 1944. Little is known of that fateful day.  A letter …

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In The Shadows of Angels

Reflections of the MS Weekend Escape – Brian Mason Respite Camp at Smith Mountain Lake In the shadows of angels there is a spirit and that spirit longs to dance.  That spirit stirs restlessly within us all.  A spirit born in our childhood that ran and played free of care, unaware that the world might …

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The List

  It had rained earlier and the table top was still wet.  Heavy fog held the moisture and warmth in the air but it was a perfect afternoon to sit outside the café and drink my coffee.  With the extra napkins, I cleared a spot for my journal and began writing.  It seemed odd to …

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This Land, Her Land – A Day with Mom

This Land, Her Land – A Day With Mom by Joe Cundiff The narrow pass weaves a glorious trail through the steep mountain ridges, steeped in a history of family and community so rich it would be impossible to measure the depths.  Endless stories flow fluidly as waters rolling across the rocks of time, seamless, …

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Clawdia’s Return

That night had all the elements and drama of an intense stake out.  Shadows lurking in the cold darkness, dim lights flickering through branches waving in the wind, and the rustling sound of leaves scattering about the hard ground.  The subject had been spotted here before and I knew she would return.  Though she had …

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The Game

The dirt remains and I can still smell the dampness rising from the wet grass so long ago, such a lush aroma born only in the coolness of a pre-autumn Friday night.  Not just any night, but the night of nights, the night of The Game. Kneeling in the huddle I look into the faces …

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