Illinois sungrass near apple tree fountains down the graygravel road, lined with tall weeds, sparkling, the pond and her wonderful cool wetness reflecting long strands of sungold...

The Sunday Morning Chronicle of times In paper pages, unheeded through the day, Fell off to sleep with the resonant afternoon Houseflies and stale coffee...

HpH E OLD woman beat the last few rice heads against the -"- pegs of the threshing sled. Th e kernels showered onto the heap of new grain that she had built up in its basket. She gathered the last few armfuls of straw and arranged them on the pile. She lifted the wicker cover over the center stake and weighted it down with a few dry clods from the baked earth...

HpHE BELLS above the door rang and. Bendix Fergeson -**- looked up from his sweeping to see five grade schoolers troop in. As usual they were led by Eric Samuelson, the son of the town's only remaining plumber...

T HE INCIDENT had become a legend in the forest. Th e tale had been told and retold for centuries. Every animal in the forest knew the story by heart and never missed a chance to tell it again...