Wyoming Meanderings
I am sitting at the chess table that Michael’s grandfather made, an exquisite piece of woodwork; perfectly square with precise detail, like the card suits embossed into its four corners. It is a thing of beauty. The table sits in the large front window in our living room. We never eat on it because it seems wrong, but we’ve never played chess either. We started a puzzle on it once, which we pecked away at for…
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