Meg

“thought you might wanna tell me why you’ve looked like you swallowed the goddamn sun since I got back.”
― L. Creeke, Where Ashes Bury Her

“But what if I am terrible at it?” “Then you’ll learn.” She said it so simply. No reassurance that I would naturally be wonderful at everything. No insistence that failure was impossible. Just that I would learn, and for some reason, that helped more.”
― L. Creeke, Where Ashes Bury Her

“I sat on Senator's broad back in the cold afternoon light and looked at the far pasture and felt something that I did not have a useful word for: something large and quiet and located approximately in the center of my chest, the way certain landscapes reach in and rearrange something structural without your permission. Philadelphia had not done this to me. Neither had Baltimore, or Santa Fe, or any of the train windows I had looked through in eleven months of being a person who did not stay anywhere. The landscape of New Mexico Territory had been making attempts on me since the train, and I had been holding it at a certain professional distance, filing it under beautiful, noted, moving on. This one got through.”
― D. S. Briar, The Wrong Widow: A Sapphic Western Mystery Romance

“There was a fiddle player on the saloon porch and a man with a guitar who clearly knew the fiddle player well enough to follow whatever he started, and the sound of them carried down the street with the warm, rough pleasure of music produced by people who love it rather than people who perform it.”
― D. S. Briar, The Wrong Widow: A Sapphic Western Mystery Romance