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on Sep 15, 2010 in Part 4
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David Greg Taylor
In the midst of a pine forest outside Biloxi, Mississippi, a black-haired boy of nigh on eleven years old was sitting by the bank of the creek that ran past his back yard. He was bare-chested, wearing only his pajama bottoms, sitting on the wet grass, gazing at an old toad. The frog was looking at him too.
It was a drizzly morning. A fine mist was falling on the child, sitting there since twilight began at six a.m. The rain didn’t bother the toad, and Slocum Healy didn’t mind it either. He spent that time looking at the water flowing and...