Half the content of these books is beautiful nonsense, lovingly tended to in the small, dim library.
One ranger is a flinty middle-aged woman. The other is a younger woman with red, wind-bitten cheeks and an honest face. They takes us down paths strewn with the sweet gums' spiky seed pods.
"You have a special bond with her," she says. "And she loves you so much."
American beech bark scarred with names.
A long stretch of gray glass buildings broken up by a grocery store, flowers huddled by its door.
It isn't a discussion he wants, but a chance to speak his opinion as if it's law.
This is love, or some of what love is - sharing the best parts of yourself with others, and hoping their own best self responds.