By Jill J Easton A gray shape flowed rather than paced across the path, framed by thick fingers of fog that ebbed and flowed. She stopped, looked my way. I could make out a short twitching tail and a rabbit’s…
By Jill J Easton A gray shape flowed rather than paced across the path, framed by thick fingers of fog that ebbed and flowed. She stopped, looked my way. I could make out a short twitching tail and a rabbit’s…