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Why did expressions of kindness so often feel like condescension? Wasn’t there a note of superiority?
“Cleaning up the damage created by others is a noble but ultimately fruitless act. Because the destroyers simply grow bolder, less accountable for their actions. They leave others to pay the price for their depravity.”
Walden. His favorite book, which she knew well because he was always quoting it. To stand at the meeting of two eternities, the past and future, which is precisely the present moment, he’d say.
Angeline thought of Petra again, the feeling she’d had when the old woman took her hands. As if Petra had grown from the earth like one of the ancient trees and was the voice of the island itself. Please, she’d pleaded when the others couldn’t hear. Take these men and leave here. They don’t belong.
“A final warning,” she said directing her gaze to Angeline. “This land is—” she seemed to search for the right word “—unwell. It has been scarred, damaged by greed, by murder, untimely death, accidents. Nothing good can happen here again. That’s why this hotel sits rotting, never cleared, never rebuilt. It’s a tomb. It stands as a warning to stay away.”
Falconers considered buzzards difficult to train and lazy because they were willing to feed on carrion. Adele thought that was a little unfair. They were survivors; she admired that. Being difficult to train wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Wildness was underrated.
Breathless, she clutched at the hard stitch in her side, kept running. There was a moment in every marathon, a long, dark patch, where you thought you couldn’t make it. Every runner knew that it was a matter of relying on your body, remembering all the past races you’d been able to complete, forgetting about the finish, and focusing on the breath. Right here. Right now. One stride, then the next.
He hated listening to them talk on the phone; their relationship was like a spoon in the garbage disposal.
There is no why in math. It just is. Relish in that simplicity. Because for too few things in life is that true.
“That’s nuts,” said Mav. “Don’t they want money? Look at this place. It could be a tourist mecca. Instead, it’s a ghost town.” A ghost town. That’s what Mav saw when he looked at this pristine and beautiful place. A reflection of his own emptiness.
Her deeds, the things she held as important, her desires meant nothing in this ancient forest. The trees had seen it all, held a primal knowledge in their trunks, their roots, the mycelial network between them. Humans thought they ruled, but far from it.
