Sorry, sometimes the best and most romantic stories we can make up don't end the way we might hope. This is a response to this letter.
This is dedicated to Grace Jones, an eagle Operation Wildlife attempted to save after she got lead poisoning. I didn't meet her myself, but a friend who volunteers there held her when she was first brought in, and I followed her story on FB. She was a beautiful bird, but unfortunately she didn't make it.
Ian and Jesse arise early and head for Tonganoxie—They have a good breakfast there—A short detour—As Jesse begins to show less knowledge of their route than he had professed, Ian grows impatient—They reach Leavenworth—They meet a couple of fellow travelers—Explosion!—The river park is closed—They receive an unwanted lesson in animal anatomy—Ian's, then Jesse's, patience is tested: Jesse fails—Then Ian fails—The campsite is full—A kindly benefactor—Rest
I hope you are staying cool.
Well, the fireflies are finally leaving us. It happens every year, and every year I think it will never end. So much more charming than the damn tree frogs. I don't think it's the heat but the tree frogs, blanketing the night with their endless, self-important screeches, that drive the poor fireflies away.