This past Sunday morning I found myself in a chapter of a Stephen King novel.
It began as a hot, lazy, humid, and deliciously quiet morning. I got up to fix a cup of my favorite morning Joe, send off a few emails, and read the Sunday papers on the back porch of the house. My screen door was jammed so I looked to see if it was off its track. But it wasn't. It was hot and humid, so maybe the wooden doors were swollen and sticking. They weren’t. I tugged at the screen door a few times with no success. I then decided to take a closer look.