Dear Telemachus,
Grace and peace to you, Huìós, from the vast swinging bridge, that suspended link between heaven and earth where mortals’ virtues are burned away in conveyance to the Elysian Field, that dwelling place of the easiest life where there is no snow, winter, or rain.
On the far side of that fast-approaching sacred boundary, the constant strea…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to BOOKS AND LETTERS to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.