If We Live Inside A

Trouble Defies The Law Of Gravity. It's Easier To Pick Up Than To Drop.

When Traveling, I Usually Keep A Notebook: When Home At My Desk, The Notebook Serves Mainly To Remind Me How Little I Saw At The Time, Or Rather How I Was Noticing The Wrong Things. But The Notes Do Spur Memories, And It's The Memories I Trust. The Wine Stain On The Page May Tell Me More Than The Words There, Which Usually Strike Me As Hopelessly Inadequate.

If We Live Inside A Bad Joke, It Is Up To Us To Learn, At Best And Worst, To Tell It Well.

The Only Real River I Knew Was Hardly More Than A Brook. It Spilled Through A Tumbledown Mill At The Bottom Of Our Road, Opened Into A Little Trouty Pool, Then Ran On Through Water Meadows Over Graveled Shallows Into Fakenham [england], Where It Slowed And Deepened, Gathering Strength For The Long Drifts Across Muddy Flatlands To Norwich And The North Sea.

Interstate Highways Dull The Reality Of Place And Distance Almost As Effectively As Jetliners Do: I Loathe Their Scary Monotony.