I Listen Mostly To Classical

I Am Becoming Increasingly Difficult To Please As A Reader, But I Adore Being Surprised By A Really Wonderful Book, Written By Someone I've Never Heard Of Before.

Once, I Discovered The Skulls Of Two Impala Rams, Their Horns Locked Into An Irreversible Figure-of-eight; The Two Animals Had Been Trapped In Combat, Latched To Each Other During The Battle Of The Rut. The Harder They Had Pulled To Escape From Each Other, The More Intractably Stuck They Were, Until They Had Fallen Exhausted, To Their Knees, In An Embrace Of Hatred That Had Killed Them Both.

I Had The Constitution Of A Missionary.

But I Plucked A New, Different, Worldly Soul For Myself -- Maybe A Soul I Found In The Spray Thrown Up By The Surge Of That Distant African River As It Plummets Onto Black Rocks And Sends Up Into The Sun A Permanent Arc Of A Rainbow.

The Rains Are Rhythmic, Coming Religiously In The Afternoons (after Lunch Has Been Eaten But Before Tea, So That The Nights Are Washed Clean-black With Bright Pinpoints Of Silver Starlight Hanging Over A Restless, Grateful Earth).