Late-Season Crossroads
Nov 05, 2021
4 minutes
ROGER A. PAGE
he season had grown so long I had trained a mouse to follow a bread trail right into my blind. I’m not kidding. During opening morning, I had heard the slightest scratching sound and glanced down, where immediately outside my blind I caught a fleeting glimpse of the tiny creature scurrying back into a hole bored into a old decomposed deadfall. By noon, the scratching had become familiar enough that each time I heard it, I expected to see the mouse scampering about. I kept my motions slight, and the mouse gave no indication it sensed my presence. But later in the afternoon, my long shadow gave me away. Suddenly, the mouse slammed to
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