On memory, desire, and home:
The Season of War ended when the soldiers fell asleep. Dreaming. Once so consumed with fight, now nothing but memory — memory and desire. And Estelle is an historian whose dead father was a poet. And the yet named Season, the one she and all the children were born into, is about to end; This era that had come to its twilight so pleasantly. In her essay “Summer Solstice,” Nina MacLaughlin describes the warm season as a fallow period. Not days stretched into the late hours of sunlight, but night encroaching ever forward as the sunset draws closer to autumn: “Darkness unspools so slowly it looks like light. The end unspools so slowly it seems like the start.”
