Thursday, April 15, 2010

I grew up among young rivers and soft land. My feet were accustomed to sinking in the comfortable muck. Long days we trudged among the waving reeds, listening to the ooze beneath our soles, believing that if the land said anything, it was that to wriggle out a path, to trudge out a compromise, to negotiate a way among the doubts--one foot down, another reaching for firmness--is a kind of love.