RILKE IN A DIGITAL AGE
The road East to Charlevoix was already busy as families headed for the hills, still gloriously red and gold, the low St. Lawrence tides stretching silver under the sun. It was high time to escape after a month of classes and contracts, grant applications and violin lessons. Here already, we sigh as if we could keep the pumpkins from ripening or the leaves from falling off the trees. We had shivered under the nights of a long week of rain. Would there be anything left after the…
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