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by
J.A. Baker
Read between
May 4 - August 15, 2017
People native to the clay are surly and slow to burn, morose and smouldering as alder wood, laconic, heavy as the land itself.
It is so easy to love the dead. The
The hardest thing of all to see is what is really there.
Hunting is always preceded by some form of play.
Nothing is as beautifully, richly red as flowing blood on snow.