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We'd only lived in Arizona four years—it was our retirement place. But I'd died there, and she'd dumped my ashes out in the desert without fanfare, without any poem or prayer, unless you considered, “Jesus, Marty, don't leave me. Why'd you leave me, you old bastard" to be an elegy.
Qopa was once a world of marshes. Visitors hear this often, in tones that range from apologetic to bitter, wistful to matter-of-fact—especially when they are shown the vast clay pan […]
It was night on Endymion, and the pollen hovered, blue and luminescent, in the trees. Isaac’s camp lantern also burned blue. It was designed to interfere with the sensory systems […]