ROAD TO HELL
I haven’t written about the hay bales and how they glow like giant golden random bocce balls in the fields. Or how the fields themselves have gone from rippling oceans of thigh-high grasses to overturned, churned chocolate earth. I haven’t written about how time has speeded up again and thrown me full-speed into autumn even though the trees have yet to turn. I haven’t written about the rosy color across Karin’s cheeks from days spent on the soccer field and the funny conversations Martin and I keep having. I haven’t written about how upset I was over the hackity haircut...