- Vol. 03
- Chapter 04
We are old and we stand at the gate of our farm on land dusty with bones ground from our youth to fertilize the fields and grow the corn and wheat, each sheaf a memory of summer's careless warmth and honeysuckle light, before old age came and took harvest of our hearts. Now our faces are creased like fallen autumn leaves, and our love is barren like naked winter trees. Our eyes are old and unsurprised by anyone we see at the door of our house, even death.