We were sitting on the floor. I started writingas the window darkened and the grass grewbright. By morning, half the trees weresubmarine. What was it about being young andwanting to write? You said it wasn’t choice, itwas dictation. You had to ask. A frog leapt through the cat flap taking refuge by our feet.You knew […]

Original source: https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2023/03/23/cuttlefish-will-harris/