天堂

火花随着维京斧的形成而飞。

我在世界贸易中心的灰烬中9/11遇见了我的丈夫。那天我们以某种方式逃脱了，逃到了他出生的小镇，我现在称自己的小镇。多年来，我经常以多种方式重新构想这个故事。如果我们没有见面怎么办？如果这场巨大的灾难没有发生怎么办？What if I hadn’t survived that September day in Manhattan and instead woke up in a place like this, a place where there was a pond out front with a rickety dock that I liked to lie on and look up at the endless sky, a place where the garden was always full of delicious things to eat—and when it wasn’t, there was a pantry downstairs stocked with colorful jars of jams and pickles and heirloom tomato sauce? What if I had opened my eyes on that September morning to find that there was always something good cooking on the stove, fresh flowers on the table and a pitcher of something brewing on the windowsill? What if it was a place where the fields were covered with snow in winter, as crisp and white as sheets, where the sweet sap of birch and maple hovered patiently in the veins of trees, and where broad-winged birds came to roost and wait? What if I hadn’t survived on that late-summer day and instead somehow this was where I landed, in a place where I always felt love and the presence of something greater than myself? What if I woke up and I had arrived here in the Hudson Valley, in the town I now call my own?

詹妮弗·索洛（Jennifer Solow）|出版商和主编|@JenniferSolow

阅读以下是原始问题（2017年冬季）的更多故事。