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An excerpt from
ThePaper Boys

    PROLOGUE
    The crickets sing to me.
    Thirty generations ago, their ancestors sang me to sleep with the very same song. Like lake water lapping or the surrogate hum of an electric fan, the crickets' summer lullaby was the white noise of my youth. Many nights I lay atop my mother's garage, sinking upward into the starry sky. The crickets were there with me, the incidental music, playing to me softly, rhythmically, hypnotically erasing the troubles of my day. Their's was the sonata that bid me escape.
    I'll never kill a cricket.

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ON VIEWING
A CHALKY HILLSIDE
by Scott Alan Roberts
©1997 by Scott Alan Roberts



Equine blude an' nobles' breeds
Their sons and daughters mount their steeds
While carving out their chalky creeds
Frae u'r the hillside sod.

On the crest beneath the grove
Druids chanted, children strove
Tae etch the god-breed spirits luve
Now seen frae Henry's Tower.

Whitened hands 'came cracked and dry
The spirit, freshened, feign belies;
Equine elegance 'fore the eyes
Time's no' worn awa'.

'A horse! A horse! My kingdom fer a horse!'
The cry tha' altered hist'ry's course;
When a' I do is gaze 'pon the source:
O' timless Beauty's mount.