“
Fall on the Kancamagus Highway, the tear blue of Crater Lake. Sunrise over Lake Tahoe, two million years to carve out its place. Sunset over a spring Skagit Valley, the tulips absolute in each shade. He had stood beneath the two-thousand-yard canopy of Angel Oak. And each of those times he had been reminded that it was not God’s work, for alongside each of those sights he had seen missing faces and shelled souls.
”
”