![]() She writes of monsters that watch over you, or at the very least, have not devoured you yet. She writes of curiosity, like an unfillable gap, a hole one could fall into and never find the bottom. She writes of home and roots, and of choosing not to be anchored at all, but be borne aloft, free. ![]() In sumptuous, illusory, and entrancing prose, Tesh writes of the sweetness of being known of love that comes so softly of people whose banked, quiet presence is like a palm pressed to your back, a steady pressure that dulls the edge of loneliness for a while. Silver in the Woods is a novella that absolutely delights the senses. But that's exactly what Silver in the Woods accomplished for me. It's not very often that I read a story and a wild desire grips me to walk into the woods, to walk and walk and walk until I find someplace quiet and silent and still where all the world can disappear, and my misery can be turned into smoke, like dawn fog wicked away by the sun. ![]()
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