As a retired English teacher at the local high school, the strangest thing he ever had to deal with was the perplexing interpretations his students had for classic literature. John was a grounded man, preferring the peace and predictability of his routine. He found his peace in the eloquent dance of words across the pages of timeless literary works, or in the soothing company of Maplewood’s vibrant avian community. But this, whatever ‘this’ was, was not peaceful, nor predictable. It was…something else.
John Baxtern woke early to the sweet chorus of songbirds that morning. He was a simple man with a penchant for birdwatching, a hobby that offered him solace in his golden years. But this morning, a regular Tuesday, would prove to be unlike any other.