The Sanctuary And The Canvas
The final stroke of the whip landed with a flat, echoing crack, not born of rage, but of absolute reverence for the boundary we had both crossed.
The Arrival Elizabeth arrived on a flight from Spain on Sunday afternoon, marking the beginning of a ritual we had anticipated for weeks. I collected her from the airport and drove us immediately away from the city lights, toward the solitude of my country place. I cooked to impress our visitor, preparing a dinner of locally sourced filet mignon, smashed new potatoes, and mixed vegetables, accompanied by a bottle of Rowdy...