Grit And Spittle Comments

in the center of my father's farm or the remnants of had been a farm. before inflation and change had made it impossible
to make a living, on forty acres I sat. to the east to the creek, the springs, the north the remains of a woods, the west, the end and edges of town.the steeple of St. Mary's pointing straight up from the middle. there in the center of the field I sat on the foundation and floor of an old shed, with the horse drawn rake and plow.

in between the fields of buttercups and weeds
...
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