The spring of 2010 has become embarrassment of riches, indeed to a point that to write of them collectively seems vulgarly vainglorious. The other option is to not write of them at all, itself pregnant with hubris.
At this precise moment, a glinty, white and blue United 747 is sliding to its gate in Sydney, Australia, come to take me home. If I cannot bring you up to present since my last posting, before I am confronted by a garden abandoned during a month in April, mobbed by two ancient and endearing dogs whom I have shunned for too many days of their lives, stacks of correspondence and responsibilities, then it is probably not going to happen. [Read more…]