I FEEL OLDI took a bottle of whisky from behind the fridge. Jack Daniels. A true, but treacherous friend, a shapeshifter that can burn the roof of your mouth off.
My thoughts had got their tails all tangled up in trying to hang on to each other.
What am I supposed to be thinking about now? Knocking the neck of the bottle against the rim of the glass, I poured myself a drink.
Calm down. Get a grip. I gulped down some of the whisky, went out and sat on the porch. The view that stretched out before me was one I had known since my childhood: the canopy of fir trees, then the meadow with hummocks of willow entangled with blackberry bushes, sand dunes with clumps of juniper, and a winding road in the midst of it all. The Earth’s clothing — grey, green and bitter. The snakes leave green tracks
