A web spreads overhead in the branches like sails. The strands glimmer as though they’re touched by moonlight. I’m walking up the path in Edith Wharton’s forest, in this winter’s Nightwood at the Mount. And this pathway is new. …
by Kate Abbott
A web spreads overhead in the branches like sails. The strands glimmer as though they’re touched by moonlight. I’m walking up the path in Edith Wharton’s forest, in this winter’s Nightwood at the Mount. And this pathway is new. …