This was the first day the cold and wind of the season required me to layer my clothing. Even with wearing my heaviest hat and thick fleece gloves, I felt that familiar ache in the bones when we arrived home and returned to the comfort of the indoors. Our second walk began before dusk. We walked into the forest during the gloaming, snow began to fall, and in my headlamp’s beam, it felt as if we were speeding through space as the flakes, and a few dead leaves, blurred by us. By the time we reached the meadow, the clouds had lifted, and we were under the stunning light of a waxing gibbous moon.
At home, two steaming mugs of chai tea were called for and a soak in the bathtub. It was there that I finished Gary Shtenyngart’s Our Country Friends and was left moved and contemplative.
When I first heard about the book, I didn’t think I’d enjoy it. For it takes place during the first six months of the pandemic and is about several un-relatable (at least to me) city dwellers who head to the coun…
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