She writes of monsters that watch over you, or at the very least, have not devoured you yet. She writes of curiosity, like an unfillable gap, a hole one could fall into and never find the bottom. She writes of home and roots, and of choosing not to be anchored at all, but be borne aloft, free. In sumptuous, illusory, and entrancing prose, Tesh writes of the sweetness of being known of love that comes so softly of people whose banked, quiet presence is like a palm pressed to your back, a steady pressure that dulls the edge of loneliness for a while.
Silver in the Woods is a novella that absolutely delights the senses. But that's exactly what Silver in the Woods accomplished for me. It's not very often that I read a story and a wild desire grips me to walk into the woods, to walk and walk and walk until I find someplace quiet and silent and still where all the world can disappear, and my misery can be turned into smoke, like dawn fog wicked away by the sun.
0 kommentar(er)
