It’s been more than a year wince Wendy Tefft died. I am no detective and only have access to the same information that everyone else has access to. But for some 380 days now, I have wondered just how many questions are there left to answer regarding her death.
Before the leaves turned, and before the weather changed, there was green. Along the trails, the sun lit the forest, worthy of being seen.
But I was wrong, it wasn’t the good that had left the room, but rather the feeling of evil had entered and hung like a thick black smoke over everyone and every thing. I can’t say that I have ever felt that way before, but it was a place to which not a soul I’d ever again wish to bring.
Is there no lucidity in a month of moments ensuring one can share the pain?
A luminary is gone, one who would, in time, opponents’ favor to gain.