Rolf Pepperkorn blinked three times and stared so long that everything seemed awkward before he finally blurted, “You’re a leprechaun!” and immediately felt embarrassed.
The old man pulled a book he’d never read off the shelf, settled into his reading chair, opened the old tome and cried, “All right, you, where are we going together tonight?”
It was a race to the lighthouse, but neither the plane nor the sailboat had a way to land.
Was it days or weeks or months or years since he’d been on land and raised his face to a warm sun?
I really can’t remember the first time the rabbits in the yard began to talk.