have always loved that photo. It reminds me of Michelangelo’s David: a split second carved in eternal time, the instant before the throw—right before everything changes; the randomness of the things that lead us to turn left, or right, or simply sit down on a dusty road and never move forward again. That boy, that cart, that horse, that fall, my mother’s choice to leave Guatemala, come back to the woods—gave me the pond.
