Robert Corelli
It had cooled forty degrees since earlier in the day. Nature was dramatic, he thought, more so that he hoped himself to ever be. He zipped up his leather jacket to the collar and raised it to cover the lower half of his face. Turned on his side against the wind, he glanced at the black mountains outlined against the starlight. He then added, “I only ask you not to doubt me if ever again I need the touch of a woman’s hand.”