If only she hadn’t brought the damn dog. All the old farmers would tell you, always leave the dogs at home. But they were stupid, so so stupid. Not just about the dogs. About other things too. Like burning green wood. Or taking Sundays off. Bad things happened if you worked on Sundays. Especially if you also burned green wood. Like the fire that destroyed the commune. Because they’d been burning too much green wood and hadn’t gotten around to cleaning out the chimney properly

She sat and sat and sat, silent to the point of aphasia — not so much that she couldn’t speak, more that she was so deep down the well of her own recollections that she simply could not muster the necessary words to make anything that might be coherent … no, not even that. She simply couldn’t muster words at all. Something like writer’s block, perhaps, with so many thoughts coming thick and fast, a tidal wave of thought, a tsunami of thought, undifferentiated thought, the aph

Don’t ask what you can do. They can’t tell you, because they don’t know. Don’t say, if there’s anything you need, just let me know. They don’t know what they need. They won’t call you. They’re too weary. Just go. Call ahead if you must, but go. Don’t ask them to choose a good time. There is no good time. Just go. Bring chocolate chip cookies, chicken soup, chili, or even a sponge cake. Comfort food. If they offer you tea and/or food, accept it. It gives them a moment of norma