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“This is all going to scare us to death,” she said. “You and me. But we’re still going to have to do it.”
a bud colony on the neighbors’ dead peach orchard.
flocked
The resurrection and the life,
Enveloped with the souls of dead children.
In the known world, anyway, it meant that.
Dellarobia watched the void of this man where once there had been wonder, and she despaired of her future.
Today was the day. Every day was the day.
drinking light.
The monthly payment was going to be her biggest expense, after rent.
“I’m going to college.
Alternation is supposed to make you sturdy. You and Cordie will grow up ready for anything.”
Kinship systems.
“You and Cordie are going to grow up in some deep crap, let me tell you. You won’t even get a choice. You’ll have to be different.”
a glimpse of strange fortune.
“What if I want everything to stay how it is?” he asked. “Oh, man. That’s the bite. Grown-ups want that too. Honestly? That’s what makes them crap the bed and stay in it. I’m not even kidding.”
Ovid’s
the reckless thrill of being at sea.
improbably serene,
the buoyant command of the air
Maybe a million.
the exodus.
They would gather on other fields and risk other odds, probably no better or worse than hers.
the fire bursts of wings reflected across water, a merging of flame and flood.
Kingsolver established the
PEN/Bellwether Prize for Socially Engaged Fiction.
Her husband, Steven Hopp, teaches environmental studies.
Iron Mountain Review,
I grew up running wild in the woods with little adult supervision, studied biology as a college student, and then went to graduate school in biology.

