These green leaves that now clothe the forest … will be drenched in your blood and mineBy Kit-Bacon Gressitt
Political polling suggests the worst could come to pass. There’s another mall gunman on the loose. Refugees and rapes, police shootings and racism; horror dominates the news, and I can bear no more.
I escape to my womb of an office and read old newspapers, mostly local weeklies. They’re filled with nineteenth century sarcasm and local gossip—who planted crops too soon or too late, who paid whom a visit the weekend last, whose chickens got loose, who had one too many pints at the tavern. Like much of today’s supposed newscasts, these papers offered more opinion than fact, but the distance of time renders them quaintly entertaining.
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