perhaps the truth depends upon a walk around the lake
—notes toward a supreme fiction
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The hawk is back today, plaintiff, calling missing something as it circles the house, the road. As have I. Thinking about my father who died a year ago. A complicated, difficult, incredible man. He loved music -- played the guitar, piano, sang. I've been listening to Hank Williams, Doc Watson, Paul Simon, the Beach Boys and a host of other songs as well as the hawk. A bit carried away with cloud shots, which are over the top but there you go.