From 21 September, 2006, Thursday. Kristi this afternoon—arrives with sprigs of herbs from her cabin garden. “The first place I didn’t feel like moving from…” Long talk, many things. Bakersfield—the bowling alley breakfasts, Merle Haggard’s mother—“I Failed” on the mailbox… “I didn’t tell them I was from Berkeley.” She brings the Jerusalem book, for me to sign: “For my dear Kristi, many stories, in both directions, sharing…”
Painting, later. Rosemary and Bay, western lands—dry as dust, sometimes, water hidden… Panhandle. Roundup, at Thanksgiving. Work on her writing, there at the ranch. And then?
No comments:
Post a Comment