I heard the news tonight as I stood in the kitchen cleaning pots. Terry Gross's voice cutting through the din of aluminum pans clanging, through the ceaseless flow of thoughts. She caught me mid-air as I moved to grab another one off the counter: "... Peter Matthiessen, who died this weekend."
Time freezes. Like a bell cutting through the forest.
That feeling when you're out in the woods and you sense a great being in your midst. You sense his passing footsteps.
And because of this, we must stop.
I pull up a stool at the kitchen table, slowly sink down and hold my face to the speakers. And the obituary plays out.
Time freezes. Like a bell cutting through the forest.
That feeling when you're out in the woods and you sense a great being in your midst. You sense his passing footsteps.
And because of this, we must stop.
I pull up a stool at the kitchen table, slowly sink down and hold my face to the speakers. And the obituary plays out.
