Joel Burcat

“The morning was one of those tropical summer mornings after a nighttime rain, when the air is full of steam and everything glistens for a short, magical time before the sun burns it off. It promised to be the kind of summer day best spent dozing by the pool, not trudging across a torrid drill pad. The air at the Campbell pad was heavy with an odd mixture of diesel from the equipment and pollen and manure from the nearby farms.”
― Joel Burcat

“The channel of Roaring Run itself was less than six feet wide. He stood at the edge of the brook watching the water undulate as it coursed over the moss-slicked rocks. The aroma was primeval, of earth and decaying plants and water and rotten wood. Mike loved the smell. He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs.”
― Joel Burcat, Amid Rage