Nathaniel Purple

Through the trees, neighbors appeared in a cloud of masks as if disembodied. When you live in a village all your life, everyone is always present. I pressed gently into the saddle, and Crystal walked on.


Over there, Carl Anderman’s farm. A mile down the road, between two rows of tall sugar maples, John Sawyer’s barn shimmering as in a gun sight. Under a pastoral cover, raw life.


When did the feud start? What violation first occurred? Who imposed himself on his neighbor?