Letters

These are not essays.
They are not arguments.

They are letters written after the workday, when the noise has thinned enough for a man to hear what still presses.

Some are about land.
Some are about systems.
Some are about the distance between how things are built and how they are kept.

They are written without expectation of reply.
They are kept because forgetting felt like a mistake.

— Hank Redding