The land remembers what the people forget, and the land in Oklahoma in 1933 remembers everything, remembers the dust and the drought and the bank notes and the repossessions and the trucks loaded with mattresses and kitchen sinks and children crying in the back seat and the long drive west toward a California that promises oranges and sunshine and work and gives you instead a camp in the weeds and a wage so low that even the weeds laugh at you and the silver that spreads across your skin like frost on a window in January except it is not January and it is not frost and it is not on a window and it is on your wife's arm and your daughter's cheek and your old mother's neck and the land remembers all of it, remembers the dust bowls and the empty silos and the dead livestock and the coughing children and the sun-baked wells and the cracked earth that splits open like a mouth screaming without sound and the sky that turns brown at noon and black at noon and the wind that carries the topsoil three thousand miles to settle in the Atlantic like a confession too ashamed to make on land, remembers all of it and more, remembers the chemical trucks that came once in the early years when the drought had just begun and the panic had not yet set in and the farmers were still hopeful and still planting and still praying for rain and still believing that the government or God or some combination of the two would send relief and there would be a way back from the brink and there always is a way back from the brink if you can reach the edge and hold on and the edge is where the chemical trucks came from the highway and they dumped their loads into the dry washes and the abandoned wells and the places where the water used to be before the water went away and the chemicals went into the ground and the ground drank them in and the ground remembers and the ground passes the chemicals to the plants and the plants pass them to the cattle and the cattle pass them to the people and the people pass them to their children and the children pass them to their children and the silver spreads and the silver remembers and the remembering is the land's way of telling the truth and the truth is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on your wife's skin and your skin and your children's skin and the skin is the record and the record is the evidence and the evidence is the truth and the truth is the land remembering and remembering is not forgivable and forgetting is complicity and complicity is the sin of the people who dumped the chemicals and the sin of the people who knew and did not speak and the sin of the people who spoke and were not heard and the sin of the people who heard and did nothing and the sin of the people who did nothing and the nothing is the silver and the silver is spreading and the spreading is the land's memory and the memory is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on your wife's skin. I am a sharecropper, or my family is, has been for three generations, since my grandfather was brought here as a boy from Tennessee after the Reconstruction collapsed and the promise of forty acres and a mule became a lie that echoed across the South and settled finally in Oklahoma, where the land was open and the work was hard and the landlord was cruel and the system was designed to keep us in debt and the debt was designed to keep us in place and the place was designed to keep us invisible and the invisibility was designed to keep us from knowing that we had rights and the rights were designed to keep us from knowing that we had power and the power was designed to keep us from knowing that we were the ones who worked the land and the land belonged to us in a way that the paper title holders could never understand, because the land knows who works it and who loves it and who bleeds into it and who is buried in it and who returns to it when the dust takes everything else and the land remembers and the land remembers and the land remembers. My name is Jesse Harper. I am thirty-four years old. I have five children, the oldest twelve and the youngest two, and a wife named Cora who is thirty and who has hands that are already rough as tree bark and a back that is already bent from twelve years of cropping and picking and weeding and cultivating and harvesting and ginning and baling and carrying water from a well that is forty feet deep and the water is brown and tastes like iron and the iron is from the chemical runoff and the runoff is from the chemical trucks and the trucks came once and they came in the night and nobody saw them except my father-in-law Ezekiel who was seventy-two and who could not sleep anymore because the dust keeps him awake, the dust in his lungs and the dust in his eyes and the dust everywhere, in the food and the water and the bedsheets and the children's hair and the dog's fur and the chickens' wings and the windmill's blades and the porch railing and the window sills and the Bible on the nightstand and the photograph of Abraham Lincoln that his mother hung there before the dust came and before Lincoln's face was covered in brown and before the brown took everything and the brown is the color of the dust and the brown is the color of the earth and the earth is the color of home and home is where the dust is and the dust is home and home is the land and the land is the silver and the silver is Cora's skin and Cora's skin is the record and the record is the evidence and the evidence is the truth and the truth is the land remembering and remembering is mine and mine is the duty and the duty is to tell and tell is to speak and speak is to act and act is to plant and plant is to hope and hope is to believe that next year will be different and next year is this year and this year is 1933 and 1933 is the year the banks took the farm and the year the government gave us nothing and the year the preacher said God was punishing us and the year I stopped believing in God and started believing in the land and the land is remembering and the remembering is the silver and the silver is Cora's skin and the skin is the evidence and the evidence is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms are the record and the record is the truth and the truth is the land and the land remembers and the remembering is mine and mine is the duty and the duty is to tell and tell is to speak and speak is to act and act is to plant and plant is to hope and hope is to believe. The first silver thing we saw was not on Cora, it was on the cotton. It was a boll, one boll out of thousands, one boll on one plant out of hundreds of acres, one plant in a field that my family had worked for twenty years, one field in Oklahoma that was dying slowly and visibly and unavoidably and the death was chemical and the chemicals were in the soil and the soil was in the roots and the roots were in the plant and the plant was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was impossible and the impossible was visible and the visible was data and the data was evidence and the evidence was proof and the proof was power and the power was choosing and the choosing was mine and mine was the responsibility and the responsibility was to tell and tell was to speak and speak was to act and act was to plant and plant was to hope and hope was to believe and believe was to trust the land and the land was remembering and the remembering was silver and silver was Cora's skin and Cora's skin was the truth and the truth was the evidence and the evidence was in the soil and the soil was in the cotton and the cotton was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms were the record and the record was the truth and the truth was the land and the land remembers. I showed it to Cora, my wife, who was thirty years old and who had hands that were already rough as tree bark and a back that was already bent from twelve years of cropping and picking and weeding and cultivating and harvesting and ginning and baling and carrying water from a well that was forty feet deep and the water was brown and tasted like iron and the iron was from the chemical runoff and the runoff was from the chemical trucks and the trucks came once and they came in the night and nobody saw them except Ezekiel and Ezekiel was seventy-two and Ezekiel remembered things that the rest of us had forgotten or never knew, remembered the land before the dust and the dust before the chemicals and the chemicals before the dumping and the dumping before the decision was made and the decision before the profit was calculated and the profit before the cost was assessed and the cost before the health was measured and the health before the silver appeared and the silver before the coughing started and the coughing before the children stopped playing and the playing before the laughing stopped and the laughing before the singing stopped and the singing before the preacher stopped coming and the preacher before the church stopped having a roof and the roof before the rain stopped and the rain before the drought began and the drought before the planting failed and the planting before the debt accumulated and the debt before the contract was signed and the contract before the promise was made and the promise before the lie was told and the lie before the truth was buried and the truth before the land remembered and the land before the silver and the silver before Cora's skin and Cora's skin before my children's skin and my children's skin before the next generation's skin and the next generation before the land remembers and the land remembers and the land remembers. Cora looked at the silver boll, this one boll out of thousands, and she did not say anything for a long time. She bent down and picked it up, turned it over in her rough hands, and said, It is beautiful. And it was, beautiful in a way that felt wrong, like looking at something that should not be beautiful, like admiring a cancer, like finding poetry in a symptom, like seeing art in damage, like appreciating the elegance of a wound, like recognizing the geometry of decay, like tracing the fractal pattern of destruction, like admiring the precision of the poison, like finding grace in the grim, like discovering beauty in the blight, like recognizing that the silver was not just a stain but a signal, not just a symptom but a message, not just a corruption but a communication, not just a disease but a disclosure, not just a wound but a witness, not just damage but data, not just decay but documentation, not just death but evidence, not just blight but testimony, not just poison but proof, not just harm but history, not just sickness but a record, not just a wound but a writing, not just a symptom but a sentence, not just a scar but a scripture, not just a stain but a statement, not just a spot but a speech, not just a mark but a message, not just a sign but a sermon, not just a symptom but a sermon, not just a discoloration but a declaration, not just a change but a proclamation, not just a transformation but a testimony, not just a mutation but a witness, not just a change in color but a change in everything, not just silver on a boll but silver on a skin and silver on a skin means something and something means the land is speaking and the land is speaking and the speaking is the truth and the truth is the evidence and the evidence is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on Cora's arm and Cora's arm is my wife and my wife is the truth and the truth is the land and the land remembers and the remembering is mine and mine is the duty and the duty is to tell and tell is to speak and speak is to act and act is to plant and plant is to hope and hope is to believe and believe is to trust the land and the land is remembering and the remembering is silver and silver is Cora's skin and Cora's skin is the truth and the truth is the evidence and the evidence is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms are the record and the record is the truth and the truth is the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. Three months later, Cora developed the first silver patch on her left forearm. It was small, about the size of a quarter, and it shimmered in the sunlight the way the silver boll had shimmered, the same internal luminescence, the same metallic sheen, the same impossible beauty, the same wrong beauty, the beautiful wrongness of something natural being transformed by something artificial, of something pure being contaminated, of something healthy being sickened, of something alive being changed into something that was still alive but no longer entirely natural, no longer entirely itself, no longer entirely Cora, no longer entirely human, no longer entirely anything that had a name or a category or a place in the world as it had been known before the dust and the drought and the chemicals and the dumping and the silver and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading and the spreading. I asked her what it was. She said she did not know. I asked her if it hurt. She said no, it did not hurt, it did not itch, it did not burn, it did not bother her at all, it was just there, on her skin, a silver spot like a coin pressed into flesh, like a medal she had not earned and did not want and could not remove and could not explain and could not understand and could not unsee and could not unknow and could not unfeel and could not escape and could not escape and could not escape and could not escape and could not escape. She showed it to the doctor in town, a man named Dr. Whitfield who was seventy years old and who had been the doctor for this county since before I was born and before my father was born and before my grandfather was born and before any of us were born and before the land was farmed and before the farm was worked and before the work was done and before the done was harvested and before the harvested was ginned and before the ginned was baled and before the baled was sold and before the sold was paid and before the paid was enough and before the enough was never and never was the debt and the debt was the contract and the contract was the promise and the promise was the lie and the lie was the truth buried and the truth was the land remembering and the land was silver and silver was Cora's skin and Cora's skin was the evidence and the evidence was in the soil and the soil was in the cotton and the cotton was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms were the record and the record was the truth and the truth was the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. Dr. Whitfield looked at the silver patch on Cora's arm and he looked at it for a long time, longer than he looked at anything in his practice, longer than he looked at the tuberculosis cases and the pneumonia cases and the childbirth complications and the broken bones and the burns and the cuts and the infections and the fevers and the coughing and the wheezing and the dust lungs and the dying lungs and the dead lungs and the lungs that were silver and the silver that was spreading and the spreading that was the land's memory and the memory that was in the soil and the soil that was in the cotton and the cotton that was in the boll and the boll that was silver and the silver that was on Cora's skin and Cora's skin that was my wife and my wife that was the truth and the truth that was the evidence and the evidence that was in the soil and the soil that was in the cotton and the cotton that was in the boll and the boll that was silver and the silver that was on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms that were the record and the record that was the truth and the truth that was the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. He said it was a rash. He gave her a cream. He said it would go away. But it did not go away. It spread. It spread across her forearm and up her arm and across her shoulder and down her back and across her chest and across her neck and across her face, small patches at first, scattered and sparse and barely visible except in direct sunlight, like stars in a daytime sky, visible only when you know where to look and know what to look for and know that the silver is there even when you cannot see it and know that seeing is not the same as knowing and knowing is not the same as understanding and understanding is not the same as accepting and accepting is not the same as acting and acting is not the same as stopping and stopping is not possible and possible is not certain and certain is not guaranteed and guaranteed is not secured and secured is not protected and protected is not preserved and preserved is not the past and the past is not recoverable and recoverable is not the only thing and the only thing is not everything and everything is the land and the land is remembering and remembering is not forgivable and forgivable is not the point and the point is not the silver and the silver is not the end and the end is not the beginning and the beginning is the land and the land is remembering and the remembering is silver and silver is Cora's skin and Cora's skin is the truth and the truth is the evidence and the evidence is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms are the record and the record is the truth and the truth is the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. The silver spread. Cora stopped going out in the sun. She stayed in the house during the day, behind the closed curtains, in the dark room where the dust settled on everything like a second skin, like a coating of brown silver, like a reminder that the land was covering everything, covering us, covering our skin, covering our food, covering our water, covering our lungs, covering our lives, covering our hope, covering our future, covering our children, covering our children's children, covering the future before it had a chance to begin, covering the beginning before it had a chance to happen, covering the happen before it had a chance to be, covering the be before it had a chance to become, covering the become before it had a chance to change, covering the change before it had a chance to spread, covering the spread before it had a chance to reveal, covering the reveal before it had a chance to show, covering the show before it had a chance to display, covering the display before it had a chance to be seen, covering the seen before it had a chance to be known, covering the known before it had a chance to be told, covering the told before it had a chance to be heard, covering the heard before it had a chance to be believed, covering the believed before it had a chance to be acted upon, covering the acted upon before it had a chance to make a difference, covering the difference before it had a chance to matter, covering the matter before it had a chance to count, covering the count before it had a chance to mean something, covering the something before it had a chance to be everything, covering the everything before it had a chance to be the land and the land was remembering and the remembering was silver and silver was Cora's skin and Cora's skin was the truth and the truth was the evidence and the evidence was in the soil and the soil was in the cotton and the cotton was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms were the record and the record was the truth and the truth was the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. I quit sharecropping for Mr. Callahan, who was a landlord and a tenant farmer and a middleman and a creditor and a tyrant and a man who held our family in his debt like a noose around our necks and the noose was the contract and the contract was the promise and the promise was the lie and the lie was the truth buried and the truth was the land remembering and the land was silver and silver was Cora's skin and Cora's skin was the truth and the truth was the evidence and the evidence was in the soil and the soil was in the cotton and the cotton was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms were the record and the record was the truth and the truth was the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. I started collecting soil samples, though I did not call them that, because I did not have a word for what I was doing, for what I was trying to do, for what I was hoping to do, which was to find the source, to find the chemical, to find the truck, to find the company, to find the responsibility, to find the blame, to find the guilt, to find the crime, to find the evidence, to find the proof, to find the truth, to find the land's memory, to find the silver's story, to find the boll's secret, to find the cotton's song, to find the soil's testimony, to find the earth's voice, to find the ground's witness, to find the dirt's truth, to find the dust's record, to find the wind's message, to find the sky's confession, to find the rain's apology, to find the drought's explanation, to find the land's reason, to find the earth's meaning, to find the soil's purpose, to find the crop's cost, to find the harvest's price, to find the boll's silver, to find the silver's source, to find the source's name, to find the name's face, to find the face's guilt, to find the guilt's punishment, to find the punishment's justice, to find the justice's mercy, to find the mercy's forgiveness, to find the forgiveness's forgetting, to find the forgetting's silence, to find the silence's complicity, to find the complicity's guilt, to find the guilt's punishment, to find the punishment's justice, to find the justice's end, to find the end's beginning, to find the beginning's land, to find the land's memory, to find the memory's silver, to find the silver's Cora and Cora's skin and the skin's truth and the truth's evidence and the evidence's soil and the soil's cotton and the cotton's boll and the boll's silver and the silver's on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms' record and the record's truth and the truth's land and the land's remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. I wrapped soil in cloth bags and marked them with dates and locations and depths and colors and textures and smells and tastes, because I tasted the soil, yes, I tasted the dirt, because Ezekiel told me to, because he said the land talks to people who listen to it and taste it and feel it and smell it and hear it and see it and know it and understand it and the understanding is the silver and the silver is the truth and the truth is in the taste and the taste is bitter and the bitterness is the chemical and the chemical is the poison and the poison is the dumping and the dumping is the crime and the crime is the cover-up and the cover-up is the silence and the silence is the complicity and the complicity is the guilt and the guilt is the land's memory and the memory is silver and silver is Cora's skin and Cora's skin is the truth and the truth is the evidence and the evidence is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms are the record and the record is the truth and the truth is the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. I took the soil samples to a man at the agricultural extension office in Oklahoma City, a young man named Harold who was twenty-eight and who had a degree from Oklahoma State and a clean shirt and a clean desk and a clean record and nobody knew what to do with a jar of Oklahoma dirt that had been tasted by a sharecropper and smelled by a seventy-two-year-old man and looked at by a doctor who said it was a rash and a husband who said it was a mystery and a father who said it was the land's way of telling them something and the something was the silver and the silver was spreading and the spreading was the land's memory and the memory was in the soil and the soil was in the cotton and the cotton was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was on Cora's skin and Cora's skin was the truth and the truth was the evidence and the evidence was in the soil and the soil was in the cotton and the cotton was in the boll and the boll was silver and the silver was on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms were the record and the record was the truth and the truth was the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. Harold looked at the soil samples. He looked at the notes I had made, which were not really notes because I could not write very well, just marks and dots and colors and words that Ezekiel helped me spell, words like bitter and metallic and wrong and silver and Cora and sick and spreading and land and cotton and boll and truck and night and dumping and chemicals and poison and dust and drought and debt and bank and taken and gone and west and California and nothing and everything and silver and Cora and skin and truth and evidence and soil and cotton and boll and land and remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. He called his supervisor. The supervisor came. They looked at the soil. They looked at my notes. They looked at each other. They did not say anything for a long time. Then the supervisor said, Mr. Harper, we will look into this. And they put the soil samples in a cabinet and they did not look into it and they did not call me and they did not write and they did not come and the cabinet collected dust and the dust was brown and the silver was silver and the silver was on Cora's skin and Cora's skin was the truth and the truth was the evidence and the evidence was in the soil and the soil was in the cabinet and the cabinet was in the office and the office was in the building and the building was in the city and the city was in the state and the state was in the country and the country was in the world and the world was turning and the turning was the land's rotation and the rotation was the seasons and the seasons were dust and drought and more dust and more drought and more silver and more spreading and more Cora and more skin and more truth and more evidence and more soil and more cotton and more boll and more silver and more on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms were the record and the record was the truth and the truth was the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. Cora died in the winter of 1934. The silver had spread across her entire body by then. She looked like a statue made of silver, beautiful and terrible and utterly still, a work of art created by poison and neglect and silence and complicity and guilt and crime and dumping and chemicals and poison and dust and drought and debt and bank and taken and gone and west and California and nothing and everything and silver and Cora and skin and truth and evidence and soil and cotton and boll and land and remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. On her last day, she was lucid. She held my hand and said, Jesse, do not let them make you quiet. The land is talking. You have to listen. You have to tell. I buried her in the ground beside the cotton field where the first silver boll had appeared, in the earth that had fed us and housed us and clothed us and killed her and would probably kill me and my children and our children and their children and the children's children and the children's children's children and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. I stayed on the land. I kept working. I kept collecting soil samples. I kept sending them east, to universities and laboratories and journalists and anyone who would receive them, anyone who would look at the dirt and taste the poison and read the evidence and see the truth and speak the truth and act on the truth and change the truth and stop the truth from spreading and the spreading is the silver and the silver is Cora's skin and Cora's skin is the truth and the truth is the evidence and the evidence is in the soil and the soil is in the cotton and the cotton is in the boll and the boll is silver and the silver is on my wife's arm and my arm and my children's arms and the arms are the record and the record is the truth and the truth is the land and the land remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers. The company is still operating. The dumping continues. But my soil samples are no longer ignored. They are buried, yes. Suppressed, absolutely. But not forgotten. Cora was right. I will not let them make me quiet. The land remembers what we try to forget. Every molecule of poison returned to the soil. Every altered cell carried up through the crop. Every drop of runoff finds its way into the earth, and the earth keeps records that no corporation can burn and no government can suppress and no amount of money can silence. And now, so do I. I am Jesse Harper. I am a sharecropper. I am a widower. I am a father of five. I am a man who has seen what happens when wealth and indifference converge on the land and turn the cotton silver and turn the skin silver and turn the truth silver and turn the evidence silver and turn the record silver and turn the memory silver and turn the land silver and turn the remembering silver and turn the silver into everything and everything into the land and the land into the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers and the remembers.