Three adventurous editors here at the Curator have agreed to attempt explicating each others’ work. In cold blood. Today, I do one of Lynn Martin’s, next week Lynn will do one of Obi Martin’s, and then Obi will do one of mine.
Snow Temple Summer
by Conrad Martin
On the clock of the year it is high noon and the world is a steady wealth of green and blue and all manner of teeming, trickling life. But once not long ago it was winter, and simple, and white. Continue reading . . . “Snow Temple Summer”