Salvaging Copper

The house stood abandoned and half burnt at the fore of the apple orchard. The apple trees were in shambles, few were pruned. Many had broken limbs hanging down amongst the others and littering the once neat aisles between the trees.

Mark stood in the shadow of a tall pine, the sun setting slowly. He shifted the weight of his pack and watched the occasional car race by on Route 122. He stomped his feet and clenched and released his fists.

The l. . .