The Green Pilgrimage
The phonograph sat on my desk like an altar, and every night I played Gershwin while the pressed leaves on my walls seemed to lean toward the sound. I had been a botanist once, before the war, before the Argonne Forest turned the earth to mud and the sky to smoke. Now I was something else — something that walked across America looking for things that no one else could see. Sorensen arrived at...
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