Amorak Huey

The Sand Pit Deep in the Woods

I remember the year as infinite, the rocky hill as crumbling impossibly higher. I have invented a childhood full of such cliffs but I’m not getting this right. You cannot see what I mean for you to see. Think: too hot to stay for long. Think: Red-stone. Soft-stone. Grain-between-the-fingers. Cool-under-the-pines. Not playfulness but the shadow of playfulness. Such castles we build.