Just Beyond the Edge of the Woods...

         I stand at the large foyer widow just off the family room, watching the sun filter through the swaying trees set just beyond my driveway. I sip my coffee and admire the contrasting hues of foliage that the advent of autumn offers. A peaceful breeze seeps through the cracked window, whipping up the curtains and enrobing my in the snowy-white, flitting lace.
         There’s a picture of a young boy, sporting a large smile, nailed to one of the trees across the way. It’s corners are furled and the word “missing” is boldly typed just below the effigy, contradicting it’s demeanor.
         His name is Jeffrey Horne and he’s been missing for three months. The search that the police chief was so adamant about enforcing has long since expired. Memorial candles have burned out, commemorative floral arrangements have withered and died. Nightly news broadcasts no longer portray the teary-eyed panic of his distraught mother. She is but a vague memory for the masses. A face in passing that they will struggle to place a name to.
         I think of all this, every morning, and smile. Those very woods, that proudly display a few dozen flyers of his portrait, have also provided me with the perfect cover up of all evidence. His memory is slowly fading but the meat he has supplied shall see me through winter.