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The Mailbox

From the June/July 2009 Print Edition

This white-dust road is in for an evil storm today. The wind seems up to something by the casual way it whistles by. Here, sixteen miles from anywhere, a weedy mailbox waits, mounted on an auger, a spiral blade ripped from a combine harvester. This hard twist of American DNA, caduceus-like, has . . . . Continue Reading »