The Flies of Morgan Hill Summers

The flies continued. They were vicious flies, wicked flies, undefeatable and hostile flies; they were a torment, a torture, terrible demons sent by the wrath of summer’s heat. They crawled into your ears and gathered at your lips and clung with their bloodsucking mouths to your arms and fingertips. They swarmed around the wetness of the horses’ eyes and sucked the blood from their bellies and clustered within their sticky nostrils; and the flies were merciless. They were belligerent and nefarious and angry; they were cruel devils that drank the blood from your body and sucked the moisture from your face. They were endless. The flies continued.

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