"Delay is natural to a writer. He is like a surfer—he bides his time. Waits for the perfect wave on which to ride in. He waits for the surge (of emotion? of strength? of courage?) that will carry him along." (E.B. White, The Paris Review Interviews, 1969)
10.12.2008
Fall's Sentinels
Few scenes strike more poetically than autumn-clad maples guarding over a cemetery.
What is nature trying to tell me, I wonder?
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