I want to tell the story. But— there is no approaching this, strange crux of everything. Come at it sideways. Come at it from the edge. Picture, then, a hardscrabble patch of land. Rocks. An olive tree. Sparse, straggling desert grass. The rocks have been waiting. The wind has been waiting. The living souls nearby sleep through the whole thing. (Th…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Wayfare to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.