Back in the way back when I was younger and fairly new to the writing thing, I still took myself seriously as a human being and author. After a few years, I figured out trying to think deep thoughts is sort of painful, and it's a lot more fun to just laugh at yourself. Before that epiphany, I took a writing class at Blue Mountain Community College, and as an assignment I wrote a short story, which I later submitted to one of those obscure literary journals that sold about fifty copies of each edition, mostly to the contributing authors.
For the first time since then, I'm working on a piece of fiction that, like that story, is set on my home turf. Plus it won't be long now 'til we hear the first meadowlark trill, and they always have been my favorite, probably because they were the only stinking bird I ever got right on the nature walks in grade school. When my friend BA Tortuga asked me to do a guest spot on her blog, this old story came to mind.
So here you go. Probably the most sentimental thing I've ever written: Meadowlark