31 December 2009. Gray on gray, plus morning chill. Berkeley Monthly, folded in its rain wrap, askew on red cement pathway to house. Two days now...
Tatiana and Sergey, their respective modes. Animation of the storyteller--Nikolai Leskov--hovering at the edge of conciousness. "The most Russian of all Russian writers," as Benjamin might have added. Quality of the telling--an alert kind of patience, the mind on the balls of its feet--relaxed, hands aloft...
"The only way of knowing a person is to love them without hope."
* * *
(Note: the last line is also a quote from Walter Benjamin.)
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