in colorado
I'll soon be returning from Colorado.
So far, there has been some cooking. I took a tram from 1955 up the hill in Estes Park with my mother. We rode with families with small children, the only people who seem to use these things anymore. This tram is so sublime, it belongs to old movies.
On the recommendation of Harper's magazine, I'm four devastating tales into the Collected Stories of Leonard Michaels. His sentences dilate your pupils with their abstruseness, then blind you with his bright light of an observation that is both grammatical and fierce. He writes some of the best sentences I've ever read. Papercuts over and over on the same spots, but they seem to cut away calluses. The fantastic happens without magic. A character walks naked on his hands in one story; in another he runs for days. Bravado conceals heartbreak, and always there is intensity.
A drive to the landfill today was a highlight. We dumped an old white wicker rocking chair and some yard waste, including half a peach tree that fell down during a storm the day before my arrival. After I removed the branches, the bed was littered with a hundred small, hard peaches, a little larger than a golf ball. I slung them out of the back of the truck in big handfulls, then one by one, watching them skim across the surface of the garbage and dirt. Frederic watched from inside the truck, sorry that he couldn't follow what I was throwing.
So far, there has been some cooking. I took a tram from 1955 up the hill in Estes Park with my mother. We rode with families with small children, the only people who seem to use these things anymore. This tram is so sublime, it belongs to old movies.
On the recommendation of Harper's magazine, I'm four devastating tales into the Collected Stories of Leonard Michaels. His sentences dilate your pupils with their abstruseness, then blind you with his bright light of an observation that is both grammatical and fierce. He writes some of the best sentences I've ever read. Papercuts over and over on the same spots, but they seem to cut away calluses. The fantastic happens without magic. A character walks naked on his hands in one story; in another he runs for days. Bravado conceals heartbreak, and always there is intensity.
A drive to the landfill today was a highlight. We dumped an old white wicker rocking chair and some yard waste, including half a peach tree that fell down during a storm the day before my arrival. After I removed the branches, the bed was littered with a hundred small, hard peaches, a little larger than a golf ball. I slung them out of the back of the truck in big handfulls, then one by one, watching them skim across the surface of the garbage and dirt. Frederic watched from inside the truck, sorry that he couldn't follow what I was throwing.