I Cheerfully Refuse

by Leif Enger

Buttered toast in a sunlit kitchen, a stand of corn and squash out back, a coming reality where sorrow did not draw and quarter them every waking dawn. Is it so much to ask? A three-chord song, a common life? Could we all have that, someday? Could I?

When I complained to Lark about the last pages of Quixote she defended its author. Sometimes no right ending can be found.