8/19/2004 | Share this article:© 2004 by Tim Simmons
“All right, Mommy, just be patient.”
Outside the run-down shack that Lottie Moore calls home, the mid-summer air begins to cool slightly as the remaining rays of sunlight recede into the Mississippi night, draining the warm pastel orange from each cloud. Shadowy mountains emerge from the distance, as if summoned by some unseen signal. A distant blue-white flash on the horizon briefly illuminates a wooden cross affixed to the top of the roof.
“It won’t be long now, Mommy.”
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