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Light cahill 1

T

he June light fades, turning on the fireflies to drift over the rich fields of timothy and wild flowers. On the smooth surface of the Schoharie Creek tiny circles widen briefly and vanish. A hatch of yellowish-white mayflies is underway. Te nymphs hurry to the surface and open, releasing the most ephemeral of creatures- -a winged snowflake that dances, mates, lays eggs and then, spent, falls softly back to the water. Te hatch picks up tempo and soon the air fills with a flurry-- gyrating, falling, new ones rising.

The comfortable scent of pipe smoke drifts downstream. Embers wink as Arnold Blanch swings his hat at the swirling mayflies. Te old man is brown andwizened,markedby the sunand frost ofmanyplaces.

Light Cahill

A short story by

Peter Koch

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