Beed and Fascia

One afternoon two decades ago, my father and I were spending a winter’s afternoon riding through backroads of mountain fields. The sun was golden and cold, and the wind was silver, heavier.

From the corner of the windshield’s eye, we saw a single crow fly down to greet the ground. The crow divided itself into two. Then three. Four and five.

We didn’t speak, and to this day, we still talk about it.

Beed and Fascia is like finding my pocket full of shells, stones and small bones when I don’t ever remember leaving the room.

– Clint Newton

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