The Raider Wire

Rot

The next few days are the same, thinking about the trees and dirt outside, thinking about God, thinking about finding a new job, thinking about her. Some days she comes home and when it’s sunny outside, I’m on the ground and she’ll sit beside me. We’ll talk about our day and write words into the dirt before going inside to wash our hands and make dinner.

Ashton Bruce, Staff Writer

May 15, 2017

Romanticism exists in soil. Decayed and decaying and will decay. Pieces of God are underneath dying grass with flecks of something holy and poetic in the pollen and leaves. And there’s dirt underneath my fingernails, and I taste it when I chew them. I exist at the same time with things and creatures...

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