On Beauty

My Uncle and The Lake

Part Two of a Four-Part Series on Beauty

We continued to walk. I want to say it was unseasonably cold, but what are seasons now anyway, other than a memory of a time in which we thought the world would move according to our expectations? Yesterday, there had been hail. Now tiny flecks of snow danced in the sky. There was a vastness to the fields and trees, a heaviness to the cold. It reminded me of frozen ground, which in turn reminded me of times in which people sometimes walked this land with bare feet, a thing I always…

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This is where I experiment. This is where I learn to write.

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Carvell Wallace

Carvell Wallace

This is where I experiment. This is where I learn to write.

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