He became painfully aware of this fact of prison life: if you expect nothing, you’ll be satisfied, but if you’re waiting for something, even death, time will drag, each day will last a week, and if you take a minute to wonder when you’re going to get what you’re expecting, the minute will become an hour.Could it be possible, as his calendar told him, that here it was March already and that weeks had gone by since Viridis and Rindy had made their visits to him and to the governor? Or had he just imagined both of those females and their visits? No, he had at least some proof of it, in the form of the sketchbook that Timbo Red was now filling up with drawings: Viridis had brought it for him, not exactly smuggling it in, as he had suggested, but openly giving it to Mr. Burdell and telling him that it was a gift from the employees of the Arkansas Gazette, for Timbo Red, a talented young artist, and Burdell had let the boy have it, and Timbo Red was beside himself with joy. Nail would have been very happy for the kid too, except that it was really hard to be happy about somebody else’s good fortune when your own luck was running so bad.
What do You think about The Choiring Of The Trees?
