I’ve said this before, but an aspect of your writing reminds of McCarthy (beyond even the stoic account of detail and emotion). The narrators you present are rarely overtly superstitious, yet they see a sort of primordial almost paranormal power in nature…something lurking just beyond the pall.

I’ve experienced this, too, while alone in the outdoors. It’s an almost indescribable feeling. I admire the way you bring this to the fore in your writing. It’s handled perfectly.

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I’m not in the Matrix. I AM the Matrix.

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