When It Rains….
When It Rains, It’s Stoneleigh It was a lumbering house. Built of rock and mortar, and afterthoughts of post and beam, it sat on the side of the mountain at the edge of Pike National Forest within the bounds of the tiny town of Shawnee, Colorado. The wrap-around porch was screened in and held firewood boxes, porch swing, couch, and an 8 point elk trophy that was missing it’s left eye. The balcony, exposed to the elements, was our mother’s favorite hangout. There she smoked cigarettes and drank wine in the evenings while gazing out to Fitzsimmon’s Lake and hearing the distant cries of the children, “Ollie, Ollie, oxen free;” the eldest boys called to the younger five the code that the game of hide-and-seek was over. Sometimes, as a five-year-old girl, hiding from my siblings in the dark under a wild rose bush near the back entry stairs, where the only light available came from the glittering stars billions of miles away, with stories of the Fitzsimmon