Fiction | January 01, 1988

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Thief wonders if it will rain.  There is the smell of it in the air.  Miles to the west, beyond the town limits, a line of black, full-bellied clouds moves into the valley.  He stand up from where he is working on his mother’s roof to look at them.  Two blue jays flap angrily around him, swooping and scolding.  Thief is trimming branches from the tree where they have their nest.

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