Remsl Site

“What are you carving?” I whispered.

“They don’t last,” Remsl said, standing. “Nothing does. That’s why you have to make so many.” “What are you carving

I watched him for an hour. He did not stop. His fingers traced the invisible grain of an invisible log, and as they did, I felt something loosen in my chest. A memory I’d locked away—the smell of my mother’s apron, beeswax and flour—drifted past me like a petal. Then another. The sound of my father’s boots on the gravel path. The exact weight of a robin’s egg I’d found when I was seven. ” Remsl said

The homes of the people who had loved.