These stairs have never been easy. Over the years in this house, all of my family, two legged and four, have had to learn to navigate them when we want to be together and when we want to be apart.
The Devil’s just a part of us—people in general, my mother herself, and even first grade me. In a single sentence, my mom had demonstrated a certain sophistication, given her child comfort, and scared the living hell out of him.
The town we were leaving, Andes, is quiet and lonely, ruled by landscape—a meadowed and mountain-ed paradise where the sunset turned the mountains red so that winter-time walks with my dogs sometimes felt like a baptism by bloody light.