The Outside Story
by Susie Spikol
Sometimes it pays to be an insomniac. One frigid winter night, I climbed out of my restless bed and slipped outside to stand under a sky littered with stars and take in the complete silence of darkness. Suddenly, a ruckus broke out along the edge of the pond near my home. A series of high-pitched yips echoed from the shore. A wild yapping answered from closer to my own yard. I had seen their tracks the last few weeks, traversing the meadow, crossing onto the frozen pond and up along the trail into the forest. I had smelled their skunk-ish markings along the high hummocks of the path and found their slender, twisted scats on top of the stone walls and raised rocks in the meadow.
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