Robert Boswell

Ideology is the light that creates darkness.

The heart was a tyrant, like a child demanding ice cream instead of broccoli and throwing a fit to get its way.

The rain began to fall harder, and it distracted him, but he tried to pull himself back because he felt on the verge of understanding something large and important. It seemed to him that this moment__he light and wind, the sweep of fields, the falling rain, the lowing cows, Leah__ form as it twisted to one side and then another__aptured a sort of life that he longed for, a life of order and harsh beauty, and although this was his farm and his vision, it did not seem to be his life. It seemed instead to be the thing for which he must daily give up his life, an act of submission to something he could not name and only rarely, in moments such as these, have a sense of. Life during these moments seemed neither lost nor ruined but a power to be shared, as the grass shares its power with the living things that devour it.