A lone lamp burns as winter presses its face to the farmhouse windows. In the dusk, a weary farmhand steps inside, his boots leaving damp crescents on the floorboards. And then he stops. Snow prints lead from the yard to the door… and simply end. Inside, a spoon grows cold beside a tilted chair, the back door is bolted from within, and a pile of half-folded laundry waits for hands that will nev...
