World Made by Hand by James Howard Kunstler

'Agnew used to call news reporters `nattering nabobs of negativism.'' We walked a ways more, enjoying the silence and the fireflies. It was always better that way with Loren. 'Maybe you should think about it longer.' 'I've been thinking about this for a long time.' 'I wouldn't dump soapy water in the river.' 'Don't get all environmental with me,' he said. And we could make a little honest profit too.' The title's open,' he said, meaning that the owners were known to be dead with no heirs and assigns, a common condition in these times. 'We can use the old Wayland-Union Mill building. 'I don't know the first thing about running a laundry.' 'Well, that's why I'm telling you about this. She took in quite a bit of other people's washing. A place where people bring their clothes and bedsheets and all, and they get washed there.' 'It's not healthy to obsess about the past.' Finally, he stuck the bottle in the back flap of his fishing vest to take home and reuse. When the bottle was empty Loren pretended to try to catch fireflies with it, but he was obviously just clowning around. She flavored this batch with sweet woodruff to round off the foxy roughness. Jane Ann, Loren's wife, made good wine, considering what we had to work with around here. He pulled out the bottle again, and polished off the dregs. The fact that he was our minister and fifty-two years old had not diminished his boyish enthusiasm, which was one reason we were such close friends. Now and then, the fireflies pulsed in unison, mysteriously, as if they all agreed on something we humans didn't know about. It made me sad, but I didn't say so because the evening was so beautiful and that was something to be grateful for.

'Most of my life happened in the old days. 'It reminds me of Christmas at the mall,' he said. We'd both been drinking some of Jane Ann's wine. Down by the rushing stream, banks of wild yellow irises shimmered in the twilight, and up in the vaulted corridor that the tracks cut through the trees, the mild June air was filled with twinkling green fireflies. Loren and I walked the railroad tracks along the river coming back from fishing the big pool under the old iron bridge, and I couldn't remember a lovelier evening before or after our world changed. To Sally Eckhoff Fabulous transcender of the mundane With love

World Made by Hand by James Howard Kunstler