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An excerpt from Babbling Brook Society

“My name is Willy Topper.” He stood erect then, removed his hat and bowed with lavish formality.

The small man’s sudden turnaround from frantic to formal surprised Luke. “Nice to meet you, Willy. I’m Luke.” He opened his hand to reveal the boot, picked it up between his thumb and pointer fingers, and returned it.

Willy reached up for his boot and smiled. “Thank you,” he said, before sitting on the rock floor to pull it on, grumbling about “too many acorn muffins and one too many goblets of lingonberry wine.”

Luke watched Willy struggle to reach over his tummy, secure his boot and stomp it into position. He also saw the small man wince.

Luke asked, “Is your foot hurt?”

“It should be fine. I stubbed it. Serves me right for rushing. The bird…”

“The hawk?” Luke interrupted. “Was it here to get you?”

“Yes, he was.”

Feeling at once pleased and proud to have saved the small person from an aggressive bird, Luke straightened his posture. “Well then, I’m glad I was here to protect you!”

“Protect me?” Willy was provoked. “He was my ride to the bog.”

“To the bog?”


“Quincy Bog? Is that where you’re from?” Luke asked.

“No! I’m from here and I’d best be getting back. I wish a good day to you.” He glared at Luke and appeared ready to remove his hat a final time to indicate his departure.

Babbling Brook Society © All Rights Reserved, 2018


Granite boulders deposited by glaciers over 20,000 years ago created talus caves, the site for Luke’s early hike. Fond of his peaceful trek through Polar Caves Park, his morning routine is mind-blowingly altered when he meets the leader of a hidden community living in the deep recesses of Haycock Mountain. When Luke learns their survival hinges on his involvement, he must offer assurances and prove he can be trusted with their secret. However, circumstances change. Can Luke keep his promise?

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An excerpt from Waterfall Down Lodge

Robyn maneuvered her kayak around Quincy Bog and looked for the cause of the splash, confident that the duck now wrapped and positioned beside her had not caused it. She spotted a boat beside water’s edge, paddled over, lifted and studied the small brown canoe. It was weathered and worn, like an antique, suggesting many years of use. It was unusual wear for a toy canoe, she thought. A lone oar floated nearby.

“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”

No answer.

“Did someone lose their canoe?”

The atmosphere grew unusually quiet then. No bird song, no frog croaks, no pitter-patter of rain. Robyn sensed an eerie calm and the silence frightened her.

“Is anyone there?” she called again, a hint of quiver in her voice.

Babbling Brook Society © All Rights Reserved, 2018

Summary coming soon...

A third and final book, Cranny Nook Circle, is also in the works!