Remnants of light lingered on the horizon, buried behind the hill at Osby’s back. The bare tops of the trees jutted above the fence line, as hard and cold as metal rods – almost as black, too – against the darkening sky.
…from Ridge Weather, novella number one in Josh Weil‘s debut, The New Valley, the protagonist of which, I’m certain, drives back and forth each day past the tattered park site of my own family reunions.
Smoldering realism. Campfire poetry. Fork in the road at dusk with rain clouds. That’s this book.