15 February 2008. New year: O's and infinity. Sparkly sun, mirrored for a moment on roofer's truck glass. Door swings open as figure in work boots and brown paper bag swings his legs aboard, 7-eleven. Sound of engine, silent blast of gray exhaust... Within: sound in back just now, second phone. "Hi, Melvyn, can you call me back?" Leonard's book, from years ago--Returning Your Call--his wry and poignant insights, increasing with age--the years a great underwriter of sadness--no, just melancholy, that feeling from the very edge of the path, as the horses sweep by--or on the sand, mid-September, crowds gone, each ocean wave alone...
Early Snow on the River, Southern T'ang, the fisher king...
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