Published February 17, 2015
Wexler studied the terrain through the cracks between the boulders behind which he sat, propped against a flat slab of granite. His tan polo shirt was plastered with sweat; a stray oak leaf stuck in his short gray hair.
The late afternoon sun dappled the scene in a deceptively peaceful pattern. Somewhere out there was the shooter who had barely missed a few short minutes ago. Wexler saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Undergrowth disturbed only by the slight movement of the wind, trees likewise gently and naturally moving. A sparrow landed in a bush 50 feet away and noisily burst into conversation.
Wexler carefully levered himself up and through a slightly larger gap between the rock and moved quickly another 30 feet behind a clump of chokecherries. Just that short burst brought more sweat and hastened his breathing – damn, he was more out of shape than he thought.
Peering through the chokecherries he saw a cardinal’s brilliant red plumage suddenly burst out of hiding in a stately elm and two smaller, more nondescript birds at the same time from the same tree. Tracing the line of the trunk to the ground he saw what he hoped: a human figure clad head-to-toe in a camouflage jumper.
Greg was born and spent many years enjoying the little things in the Great Midwest. He has, however, spent the last 30 years on the east coast in suburbia. This, plus a diverse work career including teaching high school science, working for Publisher's Clearing House, owning his own used book store, and, now, working in Health Care IT, all add perspective and diversity to his writing.
EACH PIC REPRESENTS THE BOOK COVER AND AN EXAMPLE FROM WITHIN THE PAGES.