Tag Archives: Beau Johnson

Brand New World by Beau Johnson

First there was sound; after sound, light.

And it hadn’t realized it could not hear until it did; that as the machine continued to dig it came to know what the sound of digging was. Breathing too, as well as grunts from hefting. Words—mention of a septic tank and new irrigation flows; that this was the spot; this, no other.

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