A Quiet Life
2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1
nonfiction, memoir, editors' select
In the dark early morning of a heavy snow there is the sound of metal against rock, a scraping, low at first but relentless, insinuating. It worms itself into my dream, insisting that I awake. Outside it is dark but I can make out the figure of a man with a shovel.
