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288 pages, Hardcover
First published March 15, 2022
.The mountains sagged into a deep fog and the mist wafted down the dirt roads in sheets. Weepy damp crawled on the dirt roads in sheets. Fog in the mountains isn't weather it's a stratus cloud. Vapor condensed on my face, hands, clothes. My feet, were cold my lungs were cold and the weepy damp crawled down my shirt and up the legs of my pants. I was in the mountains, but I couldn't see mountains only the silhouettes of trees.. I smelled sugar water seeping through the cracks of damp bark; phloem feeding the pine beetle larvae, nestled in their wooden galleries. The trees food gave the beetles the strength to grow beneath the bark and destroy their host. Like tiny shivers the dirt on my windows dampened into mud that collected in the corners, everything melted. [?] roof shingles hung by one nail. The town [?] felt sorry for itself. It's cheap wood. curling. The grocery store full of unsold vegetables. Rotting in the middle. And the Chinooks weren't done with us yet.and so on for another five paragraphs. These were fairly regular interruptions of the two stories. I can see how they served to illustrate feelings and a sense of place, but that could have been done in a few lines. My son, who was cooking and listening said, 'why doesn't she just get on with it?' and a bit later, 'not another one'. Maybe I didn't bring him up right?