“They know something real about the surface of things. I would say that they defy the abstractions, statistics, and agendas of public policy, the academic event of the structure in whose shadow they roughly glide, jump, and fall.”
“In the succeeding entries, we telescope our mornings by recounting and recasting. Each succeeding morning of a series is composed in exactly half the number of words of the previous. Diminish with us below.”
“Eight-hundred pounds of beautiful Arkansas Black apples later, we took off our gloves. Some wiped off their foreheads. We squinted at each other in the sun, smiling.”
“We pass it every year, the way the parade passes. Then we arrive home with the last notes of the song, evidence against our staying power, our packaging, upon return, found intact.”
Memories may fade as distance grows wider between ourselves and our young selves, but one thing remains constant: if we dig down deep into the recesses of our experiences, hold light up to the seeds of our current moment, brush off the dust, we might find something worth writing about.
