Funny how a timeline can be clearer than a recollection. Paper doesn’t blush, after all. I read your piece with the snow coming down and thought about how some stories age like footprints on fresh powder: crisp at first, then softened until no one wants to admit who walked where. This one seems to be settling the opposite way, revealing more the longer we look.
Funny how a timeline can be clearer than a recollection. Paper doesn’t blush, after all. I read your piece with the snow coming down and thought about how some stories age like footprints on fresh powder: crisp at first, then softened until no one wants to admit who walked where. This one seems to be settling the opposite way, revealing more the longer we look.