Beware Thoughts That Come In The Night.

Somewhere Lives A Bad Cajun Cook, Just As Somewhere Must Live One Last Ivory-billed Woodpecker. For Me, I Don't Expect Ever To Encounter Either One.

With A Nearly Desperate Sense Of Isolation And A Growing Suspicion That I Lived In An Alien Land, I Took To The Road In Search Of Places Where Change Did Not Mean Ruin And Where Time And Men And Deeds Connected.

Instead Of Insight, Maybe All A Man Gets Is Strength To Wander For A While.

For Me, Writing Is Not A Search For Explanations But A Ramble In Quest Of What Informs A Place, A Hunt For Equivalents.

Spirit Can Go Anywhere. In Fact, It Has To Go Places So It Can Change And Emerge Like In The Migrations. That's The Whole Idea.