I’ve decided to pull up one of my favorite stories that my dad told. I’ve always loved this story, and I hope you’ll enjoy it, too.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt
I have in front of me my dad’s typed story of the Utah blizzard I mentioned earlier this week. I also have my own version, in which I did my best to keep my dad’s voice while smoothing out some details. It’s a good day for this. We got some more snow overnight. It’s beautiful, really, and put me in the mood for this story.
It was mid-December, 1931, in the part of the desert known as the Arizona Strip. The color was grey–sky, ground, clouds, everything. Even the pick-up truck that stopped where the track turned off was grey. Grey, rusty, and low on fuel.
“We’ll run dry if I take you all the way to your place, kids. Sorry, but I still have five miles to go and no spare gas. You only have a couple miles to walk. You’ll be fine.” But as he spoke…
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