Chiree, chiree, chiree a killdeer’s warning pierces the crisp morning air. With a hop and scuttle she moves sideways from our approach. We step onto mottled, ashen-yellow, and grey pavement, the color of her body. She drags an extended wing behind her.
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1966
The Freightliner diesel truck turns toward me. Blah, the klieg horn and the squeal of brakes cut through the night. I turn my motorcycle beyond the truck’s brilliant headlights.
“Hey kid, I almost hit you.” A silhouette in the truck’s window leans toward me. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”
About the Author
Richard Wilberg writes fiction, creative non-fiction, self-development, and career counseling articles. He lives in Madison, Wisconsin.