22 December 2006. Bright and clear, after dark day of storm--the change delightful and astounding. Last night, "a kind of angel," Gus' line. Transcendent, my suggestion...but it turned out to be himself in disguise. Narrow, arched nose, high and alert--modest and incisive. A kind of character, not giving the world any more than its due--hard won, perhaps--and not without a playful (kind of) resignation. On the whole: pointed, though. Lucy's Mexico sonnet--their fiesta, swaying figures... Ted: four million teeth, all on the front seat. Dick: a personalized natural history of the elephant. And Sue--her son at thirty--great distress, touch of love.
All our beginnings... Hemingway and trees...
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