![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsnF-x0_JTD_h2Z_HRouFdvWr2YBBYWP1XVVPhqkFeIYO4w0hT_g4j1aIv15OPrfOZzjGDOn5xpYgt_EV3SlEzMBnMMeyfbqEx-ZDdgSCzvQyUbKr9vqkCiCxT_2ARkdvqWNvdw/s400/Analect2.139x.jpg)
19 July 2007. Sunny, with a few clouds, warm dusky grays tinged with rose, all along the hills. Propitious dawn. Tiny silver aeroplane reads even brighter against the southern sky--heading somewhere east. As in Xanadu, perhaps, or not quite that far, "down to a sunless sea..." Certainly not Olivia Newton John--that was then, granddaughter of Max Born, from the König Wilhelm gymnasium at Breslau, then Heidelberg, Zurich, Göttigen...Chicago, even. But Brooklyn no, Travolta's pals--white polyester and in-line skates...a row of leg-warmers...
The lonely Appaloosa, Montana plains, thunderstorms and snow...
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