It was a gorgeous summer day. The hot sun beat down so hard that everything from the green leaves of the trees to the dry, dusty earth seemed to shimmer and glow. My sunglasses were missing so I was constantly squinting. I was at my old man’s place, a quaint log home he’d built himself in the ’80s on a small piece of land in Waterbury, Vermont. With my father’s recent passing it was now my property in every sense of the word, although in my eyes it still belonged to him. But I knew I’d have to sell it soon. The taxes were too much for me to handle, and my writing career had nearly come to a halt since his passing…
