The Narrative Image

I don’t know how it started for sure. Some intrepid band of Homo sapiens maybe walked over a land bridge from Russia or navigated the seas in functional watercraft. Maybe, at first, they followed the easy paths provided by beaches or slow-moving rivers, living on a wealth of migrating fish and fowl. Fueled by the discovery of other resources, they cut trails into the land’s interior. If they succeeded, others followed. The trails became roads. Some roads are stable, while others are erased by encroaching rivers, covered by seasonal lakes or interrupted by landslides. Due to the vagaries of economics, some roads fall into disuse while others are appropriated and paved. All roads are contingent on their usefulness. Like a network of synapses growing in a brain, roads link us to memories. At the same time, they stretch ever outward, allowing us to reach the edges of the known — where ghosts still whisper and discoveries can yet be made. Uncle Rico thrives in the margins where roa