12 December 2006. Rain rain. Glossy pools on morning street. Yellow catalpa against pearl gray sky. Dark magnolia leaves over the 7-eleven sign. This kind of silence--invaluable, even while it lasts... Whoosh of cars zooming up Solano, ding ding of backing truck veiled in the distance. Beautiful, despite the interruptions of Sue's incessant mutterings--comments to herself on this and that as she works on book. "It does look a little fuzzy up there." Greg by her side. "It's got a little boo boo here." Possibilities of the language--a miniature truck wreck sometimes--depending on the ear. Martin Cruz Smith, for instance, with the ancient Nina on her Pripyat bench, "Wolves eat dogs." Declarative, not a comment. "Wolves eat dogs."
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