Memory Is, Of Course, A Trickster.

Living In A Small Italian Hilltown, And Having Lived In A Small Town In South Georgia, I Understand That You Can Recognize A Family Gene Pool By The Lift Of An Eyebrow, Or The Length Of A Neck, Or A Way Of Walking.

The Urge To Travel Feels Magnetic. Two Of My Favorite Words Are Linked: Departure Time. And Travel Whets The Emotions, Turns Upside Down The Memory Bank, And The Golden Coins Scatter.

Where You Are Is Who You Are. The Further Inside You The Place Moves, The More Your Identity Is Intertwined With It. Never Casual, The Choice Of Place Is The Choice Of Something You Crave.

Five Tender Apricots In A Blue Bowl, A Brief And Exact Promise Of Things To Come.

May Summer Last A Hundred Years.