The Words, Stefan Merrill Block
This beautiful paragraph is taken from Stefan Merril Block’s second novel, The Storm at the Door.
In the soil of a New Hampshire forest, on a summer day of 2007, the words are no longer words, now only particles of ash. At a Massachusetts pencil factory, on a spring afternoon of 1959, the words are not yet words, only a few inches of charcoal in a rod. At the bottom of a milk crate in a cluttered attic, on a winter morning of 1976, the words fade slowly on yellowing paper. Inside the glow of a Franklin stove, on a July day in 1989, the words curl into one another, embrace one another with their sloping appendages, as they incinerate. Ascending the chimney of Echo Cottage in a plume of white, they could have been anything.
Posted on June 3, 2014, in A Writer's Life, Literature, Uncategorized and tagged books, literature, quote, Stefan Merrill Block, The Storm a the Door, words, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.