Our hopes such as they are, invisible before us, untouched and still possible*

Returned from the snow farm for the last few days of the year’s closing book. Serene here, too— quiet and white-blanketed. Few people are on the sidewalks, chilled and brittle. The emptiness of the playground today: a witness to the mercury, its height diminished despite bright sun. And here we meet our fabricated bookends for… Continue reading Our hopes such as they are, invisible before us, untouched and still possible*