It’s an island, sort of. It’s a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. It’s fields and bales and horses and a tractor. Essentially it’s just open space at Nusquam, and where it isn’t then the packed-in clutter of small, murky interiors only serves to emphasise the openness outside.
It’s a walk. It’s a stroll. It’s a Sunday afternoon. It’s exercise for the lazy. You look at the fields and you remember all that running you never did when you were younger. You spot the pretty girl at the water’s edge and think of all those romantic picnics you never went on.
It’s a thought. It’s an idea. It is man’s struggle against nature. It is nature’s struggle against man. It is order verses chaos, and it is the stark reality that there is ultimately no such distinction in the long run: it’s all a matter of when you turn up.
What the Huck? 