The Meadow 155 3. On the interstate ahead of the storm, slow pulses of light shine into Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, great dark interiors furnished like grandparents’ parlors, places we escaped to winter daytime, the china pattern a maze, faces on the wall a kind of people we recognized, those we could never really know. 4. In the mountains where November ends, the lake turns, bear over bear, before ice races toward the middle from each shore, before char, rising and falling, eat everything. 5. If you ever have to bury men alive, like I do, you’ll know to spend affection nimbly, prodigal, the last coin the day all money turns to sand.
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