Poles of Stone

by Ron Flannery

We were motoring up U. S. 50 in the canyon east of Cotopaxi, Colorado. As usual, my dad scanned things beyond the road itself. Suddenly, he said, “Yep, they’re still there.” Not seeing anything but the steep canyon wall on one side and the Arkansas River on the other, I asked, “What’s still there?”

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Hay Crew

By Ron Flannery

It was an arranged deal. Not that I was shanghaied, but at the time I was the third party to an agreement I was not fully aware of. It started innocently enough. My parents and I were returning from a fishing trip to Gunnison, Colorado. We stopped for just a friendly visit at my Dad’s friend’s ranch outside of Saguache to say hello. It’s helpful to know that Saguache, located at the north end of the San Luis Valley, is not the garden spot of the west. Anyhow, I had no clue to ulterior motives on my Dad’s part. He may have felt my life as a sixteen-year old city boy in Pueblo was lacking some qualities.

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