I The black and white photograph was more tattered and bruised than the day Jim Gannon claimed it and tucked it safely in his wallet more than a decade ago. By chance and design, he had visited the picture many times during the years that followed; the handsome features and earnest look inherent in the…

    I “Serra, Serra Madison – is that you?” he asked, lightly tapping the woman walking away from him on the back of her shoulder. The woman stopped and turned slowly to face him; she was beautiful. “No, that’s not my name,” she said. “I’m sorry.” “My mistake,” he said. He had arrived at Grand Central…

I   The white butterfly came to rest directly in front of him, landing softly on the steel railing of the suspension bridge a few feet away. Its small wings fluttered lightly in the breeze high above the strong river below, and its head turned in the direction of the man, looking more curious than worried about the…

I   In the rugged and remote highlands of far West Texas stands a gem of a baseball park, one built in the late 1940s for a team called the Guthrie City Cowboys by their legendary owner Knox Henderson Jr., a wealthy rancher and cattleman. Only Henderson Field survives today; it is rougher around the…