Boys in the Valley

by Philip Fracassi

The view from the orphanage is bleak and colorless. A blur of new snow continues to fall on the empty yard. The wind whistles and whispers, sings its own secret song. Leafless trees beg and crack, succumb to the will of the oncoming storm. The sun is a blind eye, a cold disc of white in a forlorn sky. Of life, there is no sign.