I could feel his eyes drilling into my back.

A loon called from across the lake in the hushed stillness of the rising moon.

They arrived without warning on a perfect Indian summer day.

Our canoe raced toward the rock.

I was sitting in my kitchen agonizing over my Christmas grocery list when I heard the noise.

Meg, you have to go. I can't.

He liked the staccato beat of the rain drumming on the roof of the carving shed.