"The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks."

Tuesday, December 19, 2006


The plane leaves in three hours. Neither of us have slept, unless you count dear Olga's present nap in the bathroom, which I don't. I can't imagine it would be very restful.

To Lawrence! Masha's place and the Free State brewery. Friends, family, and the studied attention of a landscape whose love was so hard won.

I'll be in touch. But now we have to figure out how to pack this olive oil.


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