“If the global temperature rises by only four degrees Celsius over the next fifty years—and it’s probably going to do that—then all of the Appalachian forests will die. Already, the Elms and the Chestnuts are gone, and the Hemlocks and… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“Fog lifts in the valley, rising as mist through the bare-limbed trees. Far below lies the deeping combe with our village in the heart… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“If the global temperature rises by only four degrees Celsius over the next fifty years—and it’s probably going to do that—then all of the… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“London town is a great and stinking warren. The smokes of many fires creep around our ankles and our cart, and a stench rises… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“I do not like the orangeness; it erases every tree, every branch, every leaf.” — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“Under the sanctuary are the catacombs where the dead wait for resurrection. The living do not venture there. The caverns here underneath the Sanctuary… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“Rooks have clustered on either side of the long road. It is as if they line a grand parade route for our passage. Their… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“Speech does not always unravel matters. Words can betray you, their labyrinthine threads tangled in knots, for we were cursed at that great tower… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“I must learn to be as the bear in a cage with the stick that pokes it always, through the bars. The bear acts… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“April comes to us, with her showers sweet. I wake to the cries of little birds before the light comes across the heath. They… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“The nitrogen cycle is a kind of miracle. The nitrogen cycle requires bears. Brown bears catch salmon in streams and rivers. Then the brown… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“Any story is an ocean whose tide begins in a place I can't know, and my life is but a moment in that flood,… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“I remember the fire, it burns bright, always around me. I close my eyes, and tears stream out. The tides of the past seize… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
“The road is a river of ice, slick and unforgiving. A harsh sweep of white iron, smooth as glass and cold enough to freeze… — Ned Hayes Copy Share Image
