“There lies my grandmother!” exclaims the prickly-haired 20-year-old Sagadan curiously named Birdy, who has volunteered to be my guide. Casting my gaze horizontally in search of a tombstone, I find his index finger directing my eyes heavenward.
There in the middle-distance, on a rock-face high overhead, hang pinewood
Skeletons in the ClosetTibor Krausz2017-04-24T02:32:39-07:00