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No cracked earth, no blistering sun, no burning wind, no grasshoppers are a permanent match for the indomitable American farmers and stockmen and their wives
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
Love is what remains.
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
Her story—which is the story of a time and land and the indomitable will of a people—is my story; two lives woven together, and like any good story, ours will begin and end and begin again.
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
This is how my love for her goes on: in moments remembered and moments imagined. It’s how I keep her alive. Hers is the voice in my head, my conscience. I see the world, at least in part, through her eyes
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
Mother. Daughter.
Warrior.
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
Her.
She is what I miss every day, what I cannot replace.
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
You gave me wings, Mom. Did you know that? I feel you here. Will I always?
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
I never said I was proud of her,” Loreda said. “How could I—”
“Close your eyes,” Jack said. “Tell her now. I’ve been talking to my mom that way for years.”
“Do you think she hears?”
“Moms know everything, kid.”
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
I can’t live without my mom.
Habitante de librohar citeretsidste år
All Loreda could think about was how mean she’d been to her mom. For years. There was so much to say now, to undo. She wanted to tell her mother how much she loved and admired her, how she wanted to be just like her when she grew up. Why hadn’t she said it all before?