In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

At the End of Our Time: A Prologue All of this happened a long time ago, long enough that it should be as dim as a Sding taillight on the horizon. But it takes so little for it to spring on me unbidden. One day walking through the zoo, I came upon an old black bear at the back of its cage looking over its shoulder at me and standing in a position that suddenly jolted me. I stood looking at it with tears rolling down my cheeks, the other zoo goers walking softly past me like I was a sidewalk loony. Or maybe I'll catch snatches from an old song like "Bridge over Troubled Water," "Let It Be," or "Rainy Night in Georgia," and I'm arrested and casr back into the world of memory. The sound of a helicopter or the sight of a fading peace symbol will do it, a bed of pine needles, the heft of an old knife, even a woman in a dark blue evening dress, if she's got dark hair and white shoulders. I'll go for awhile without sliding back imo the past, and I'll think it's disappeared finally, slipped into the crevices of memory, and then I'll see someone riding a horse or maybe hear the sound of a train, and there it'll be. The Sces and names-Budwell, Trailer, Rancek, Shrode, Garrett, Thompson, Hays, O'Haraspring to the mind's eye, and I see them as in an old newsreel. 1thought that this was just my story, something I'd carry silently around with me, but now I've decided that yes, it's my Story, and I guess chat it might be others ' toO, those who were there and who lived through it, those who traveled in the wake ofit, and maybe even a story for those who came after. TCU-Busby.pdf 8 8/10/2012 8:25:03 AM ...

Share