The blue silhouettes of mountain pines cut like saw teeth against the tangerine sunset. Metal skeletons of high voltage pylons unspool threads of electricity. Power lines crosshatch white tiger stripes of evening clouds. “Do you feel the wind, shaking the car?” he asks. Could he come with me to the farmer’s wedding in the hills and lakes of Masuria, could I ask him? Could I take him where white clouds reflect in the blue-green waters, where reeds rimmed with mud rustle in the shallows, and stinging nettles grow shoulder-high on the shore? First published in Residual Heat under my pseudonym Aga Black.