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Kindle Notes & Highlights
A handful of hard rain was flung against the window and now he felt the strangest thing, a thought almost beyond words, that the winter would have purpose for him yet.
By this moonful hour it was a yearning music that wanted for other places, for faraway places, for places nobody had ever been to in actuality but still could feel,
About this time it became the common perception that trains sounded lonesome, especially in the hours of darkness, and you could not deny it looking across the yards at Pocatello Junction on that rainy December night as the Utah & Northern went out for Salt Lake City and left a long forlorn calling in its wake.
At length the white limbs of the birchwood appeared in the dark to say that the night dissolved.
The river was known as the Snake and on its half-frozen waters the bird tracks were written in silver script and this was beautiful.
Early in the morning out back of the Delign store in the town of Saint Anthony she broke up the kindling for the stove and the sky above her was the province of some ice god with an evil streak to him and malice in his ways and in the bone and iron greyworld of the Idaho Territory that winter she chewed on some hard new thoughts about fate and destiny and love and death and all of that horseshit and the way it had all turned out.
The lights on the water. The lights on the water move her. She is most alive always in the deep of the night and that much has never changed. The wind blows and the past shifts again and rearranges. She can go there still when she wants to.
