She instead feels that he is that dust and those thistles and those rocks and that early-morning fire, a force that holds her up. For weeks, she feels her grief like this. But she can also see through her grief, and what she sees is the end of their time on earth. It is finally over; it died with him. In a few years, the whole world—the dust of it, the thistles, rocks, and fire—will recover itself from that brief time when the Mitchells lived and when she destroyed them. How could such a rupture, of time and earth and the human heart, ever heal from that August day, when all things separated, broke into parts that lost one another in an instant?
A lyrical novel exploring the consequences of illicit love, how inconsequential all of us are, and how we are none of us, as adults, blameless.