After two days I get out of bed and pad barefoot to the bathroom. There is no one in the house and I haven’t showered since I slept on the east coast. America clings to me like aftershave and sweet sweat on a T-shirt. I don’t want to be alone with it any longer.
In the bathroom I stare back at a strange naked woman. She is dark: the scorched earth of her skin sits stark against pale lines of…
— Rosa Joy, in a hologram (part iii)
Rona cut out some of my words and tacked them on another wall for people to see
“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. […] [T]hey are ambassadors from another time.”