Sleep Story 204 – The provincial American and other papers
Bore You To Sleep - Sleep Stories for Adults
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Those Trumpetings Have Lingered in My Memory
Anywhere east of buffalo, i should be known as a westerner. Across a hill slope that knew my childhood, a bugle's grieving melody used to float often through the summer twilight. Those trumpetings have lingered always in my memory and color my recollections of all that was near and dear in those days. My bugler was merely solacing himself for lost joys. I am confident that he enjoyed himself. And i am equally sure that his trumpetings peopled the dusk for me with great captains and mighty armies.
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