By Lon Otto
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Additional resources for A nest of hooks
He sets vines and mosses and little ferns into the earth-filled crevices, and they overrun the rough, scavenged stone, knitting the granite and limestone into a soft green web. Moss shadows the soft old brick of his herringbone walks and terraces almost as soon as he lays them, and they seem to have been there forever. And after he has raised or lowered the height of a terrace, changed Page 25 the shape of a retaining wall, or moved a walled bed into a different part of the garden, the earth, the air, the patterning light settle almost at once, grow seamless and inevitable, denying they were ever otherwise.
We have stolen food and fuel, and killed those who prevented us. We make no excuse. We are at war, we are not trying to be loved. We are not children in a fairy tale, who the birds, maybe, feed. We take what we need, like the leech, and we will not be forgiven, no matter what, who have drifted in their midst like a horrible dream. And Willie whispers to me in the darkness, Why? Kapitän, Page 22 why do we go on with this? And I tell him, Willie, don't ask, Liebchen, hush. A coal barge is passing slowly overhead.
Garvey's face. He gives a lecture that evening on the evolution of the ideal of originality in Western Culture. His small and inattentive audience stifle yawns and sneak glances at their watches. Be- Page 35 hind him, in his briefcase, there is a startled peanut butter and jelly sandwich: Peter Pan Creamy, Welch's Grape, Wonder Bread. " And my grandmother tells him, "Hush now, shut up,'' and he shuts up. "Thank you,'' I say to her and continue my explanation. We had gathered in my apartment to begin the trip back to the lakes in northwest Minnesota that were my family's fishing lakes sixty years before.