R.M. Dolin, 2013
Predawn shadows hang over the deserted field like an impatient Executioner who's not necessarily eager for the task at hand, just anxious to be done. Wind dances along the stark stubble wondering where life and beauty have fled. Broken stalks, like pipes in an organ, create a crescendo response to Coyote’s mischievous serenade. Inside men sit serious, eyes fixed on an unspeakable future that does more to address the challenge than any discussion to follow. For a nation, for its people, for the serious men who sit in silence, the winter of discontent has arrived; bearing down with the intense ferocity of a high mountain storm scraping across the long-abandoned tomorrow.
