Blank and bare, black and white and adobe brown, baked brick remembers summer’s heat but gives nothing away. The snow whispers its own story and soon will be gone. It lines the steps, hushes against the wall— and the doorway is blacker than ever.
I wanted to write something strong and spare to mimic the lines of O’Keeffe’s painting. But also with a tongue-twister tautness to slow the reader down, make you linger. The way the drifting snow compels me to linger in this space that O’Keeffe creates. A wintery space that feels just right for this time of year, for the stillness and coldness of this time which feels both bleak and hopeful.
