THE HARVEST OF TIME
and there are bound to be moments of repetition. Time will coil around itself, decades will collapse on top of each other, and what should be fresh tire prints in the ground will just be another layer of tracks on top of those, on top of those, on top of those already laid onto the tracks beneath them. At some point, this may feel like a futile repetition—the 1994-typed words of the first editor of this magazine echoing to haunt the present: “The only difference between a rut and a grave is the length of the
