![]() ![]() It snowed every day now, sometimes only brief flurries that powdered the snow crust, sometimes for real. The same day returned once again - the same waste of snow and rock very lonely and austere. Every morning the world flung itself over and the view had changed, appearing a shade lighter, but the country was of a deadly and a deceitful sameness. There had not been such a winter for years. Annotated text and full source material available here. This is an excerpt from Part I, “The Four Seasons,” at the end of a long, frigid winter. Each sentence, phrase or clause is borrowed it includes no original language. The Nature Book is a novel that collages nature descriptions from 300 other novels into a single, seamless text. To receive the Quarterly Journal, become a member or purchase at our bookstore. This piece appears in the Los Angeles Review of Books Quarterly Journal: Catharsis, No.25 ![]()
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