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In by Chris on November 1, 2018 at 8:32 am

Mike Stasiak and I were leaving my parents’ yard. Our things were packed in small bags.

“We can go,” I called from across the drive.

From the shrubs a moose emerged and shimmered toward me, its hair sandy, even silver—some strange defect—as downy and clean as cartoon shag.

I was in the trees. Expecting it to pause and listen, I called to Mike, “You go.”

Next thing I knew it was before me, attracted to my voice, the size of a pony but fluffier, its nose up.

Oh. No.

I edged away instinctively, toward an old climbing tree.

  1. I definitely read it as “asses” not “assess” and it changed the meaning completely.

  2. the idea of a moose shimmering makes my neck quiver

  3. Oops Lara I meant to say “assess asses.” Anyway, I’ve edited it.

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