by Kevin Alfred Strom
HIS FOOTPATH TO THE HEIGHTSÂ is almost invisible now, overgrown with timothy grass and mountain laurel, tenanted by bees heavy with nectar and pollen instead of by a man heavy with the future.
Morning after morning, for almost two decades, William Luther Pierce would take this path and ascend to the highest point on what he simply called “The Land.†At the summit, he would look out, all the way to the horizon, upon a creamy,