THE DOG STARS--he knows
Like how a kingfisher flies along White Clay Creek ahead of you, stopping, when you are running on Creek Road south of Wedgewood.
Like how the twisted abandoned apple tree above the parking lot for White Clay Creek Park bore little yellow apples that were pretty well pecked by the time they were ripe but if you carried a few home in your jacket pocket and cut off the worst parts and stewed them with no water and no sugar you had the most intense applesauce you could ever eat.
Like the way he uses Pete's obsessive slide-work to explain what I was doing with old pictures this week: "Keeping track of things that have no use anymore except as a bulwark against oblivion."
I am not saying he is a great writer, of course, only that he is the most surprisingly wise writer I have encountered freshly in years.
Like how a kingfisher flies along White Clay Creek ahead of you, stopping, when you are running on Creek Road south of Wedgewood.
Like how the twisted abandoned apple tree above the parking lot for White Clay Creek Park bore little yellow apples that were pretty well pecked by the time they were ripe but if you carried a few home in your jacket pocket and cut off the worst parts and stewed them with no water and no sugar you had the most intense applesauce you could ever eat.
Like the way he uses Pete's obsessive slide-work to explain what I was doing with old pictures this week: "Keeping track of things that have no use anymore except as a bulwark against oblivion."
I am not saying he is a great writer, of course, only that he is the most surprisingly wise writer I have encountered freshly in years.
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