"I remember a moment in this little house, seen here through shrubs that have grown in the forty years since the afternoon that glows in my mind, with a breeze blowing the curtains in through that upstairs window, the warm sunlight of an early summer afternoon, lighting up green fields, green trees, green weeds, floating dust sparkles, soft grey driftwood textures on the unpainted wooden window frame, the smell of warm fields, and Grubber the hermit, (it was his place) listening to me tell him (who surely saw this himself) just how beautiful it was. A couple weeks later we heard a sound like a sonic boom B-58 bombers made, and word came that Grubber had been killed using dynamite to clear stumps from this field." zipper
	hermitage photo © the archive of light