October
Issue #16
Spring 1979
The morning harvest startles me with its generosity. Feedcorn spills over the wooden wagon, the milkweed has fattened and waits, calling touch me, touch here! Buckled up, shuffled into pairs my children challenge the very air in front of them....
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
